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lovelykhaleesiii · 19 days

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Aegon is the best big brother to his sweet sister, who is in third trimester of pregnancy; not only does he help her relieve the feeling of her heavy breasts by sucking on her tits greedily like a babe, he sometimes helps the aching feeling between her legs by sticking his cock, tongue or fingers in her cunny

Such a good brother, especially when she’s not even his wife

Blood of my Blood.

PAIRING: Older!Brother!Aegon ii Targaryen x Little!Sister!Fem!Reader

WORDS: 1,715.

WARNINGS: incest to the max, implied affair [Aegon is the father of the child], age gap [reader is of mature/consensual age], lactation kink, pregnancy kink, slight reference to breeding kink, p in v sexual intercourse, possessive!Aegon, swearing.

A/N - now I NEVER write brother x sister tropes even in the ASOIAF universe just because it’s not really my cup of tea, but this ask sparked something very very feral in me. I might make a neice x uncle version of this or a Daddy Aeg x daughter!reader version.

credit to the owners of the images.

Curse the Gods who afflicted the journey of motherhood, for it could be such a gruelling thing... Heading into the final few moons of your first pregnancy, you had never felt such intense discomfort in your life. Your beloved mother, Queen Alicent, had informed you of such grievances, although with little empathy for her pregnancies had been quite embracing and facile. Your eldest sister, Helaena, having already given birth to a set of twins, now in the early stages of her current pregnancy with your elder brother, Aemond, could somewhat console you, becoming an anchor of support.

It was Aegon, your eldest of the siblings, that you seemed most attached to, for it was Aegon that granted you bliss in your pregnancy, more so than your absent husband, some delinquent lord of the Vale. You had argued your way with your mother, and batted your eyes to your father, begging you to stay in King's Landing, in familiar territory with the finest maesters at hand. More so, it was Aegon who had plotted with you this essential plan.

"Do you truly think that the maesters of the Vale and that imbecile you call husband will keep you safe and satisfied, dear sister? Not in the least... But I can."

Aegon's temptress of a tongue was convincing alone, although it had been his merciful gestures of chivalry that kept you sane and grounded. Easing your aches and pains of expecting, Aegon became your sole beacon of ease, like the formidable arms of a warrior and you, the damsel he heroically carries.

"Do they ache again, sweet sister?"

The softness in his husky, drowsy voice breaking the silence of the chamber, woke you whole from your half-hearted daze. You had both succumbed to slumber [often Aegon insisted that you remain closely by his side, even in bed] what felt like hours long ago, and yet through the ginger firelight, by the open window, night remained swallowing the sky.

"Mhmm-" You uneasily stir: weakly trying to muster enough strength to sit yourself upright: however, with the sheer, bulging mass of your grown belly you visibly struggled until Aegon's efforts of pulling you effortlessly upright ended your dilemma.

"Want me to help, princess?"

His calloused, thick hands began to rub small, soothing circles against your lower back, knowing the babe inside exerted much pressure on your lower spine: its weight growing more rigid with each passing month.

"You've helped me enough, Aegon. I mustn't ask more from you... If this state is any indication of me being a mother, consider me a terrible one," You defeatedly utter, one hand stretched from behind supporting your upright position, whilst the other softly caressed at the protruding temple of your clothed belly.

"Don't speak like that, Y/N, dearest. This is your first babe, you must understand your body is adjusting. Hel suffered a great deal with the twins also, and now, look at her... You are going to be a beautiful mother, indeed. I have no doubt...C'me here."

Lightly tapping at your exposed thigh, your night gown had been pulled up just below your way with all the commotion and movement. Obeying, Aegon summoned you onto his lap, shirtless he had entered the bed, however before you could even gather motion to straddle yourself atop: he'd managed to tear away his undergarments, leaving his exposed girth, reddened at the tip with excitement. Modestly covering himself with the sheer, ivory linen.

"Right now?" Your snappy tone vicious, however Aegon remained unfazed.

"Well, little sister, if I'm being quite frank it seems you've been dreaming quite vividly... Do you not hear the moans and pleas that escape your lips in sleep, crying out for me, begging... Want your elder to sate you, is it? Was that babe growing inside of you not enough, you wish me to spoil you some more, hmm?"

"A-Aeg- We shouldn't..." You meekly whimper, a surge of heat coursing through your face, certain your cheeks had grown scarlet with shame.

"All you had to do was ask."

His dark voice a low growl, like some concealed predator eager to ambush. Aegon's motions remained in contrast, tender and cautious, easing your delicate and sensitive frame over his wide, gelatinous thighs. A scorching sensational painfully heightened sent lightning bolts in waves throughout the entirety of your body, shuddering with excitement as your aching cunt eased itself over his pulsating cock. It had been a while since you had been intimate with Aegon like this, prior to the pregnancy in fact: the changes your body had undergone since were bracing and raw.

Feeling the tensity beneath and the heat as you began to bob ever so slowly and sensually over Aegon's tense, fat cock: feeling its hard tip hitting at your cervix [you had hoped rather than the babe]. Your tight walls overstretched, desperate to adjust to his girthy width, you swore to yourself it had never felt this stimulating ever before: every primal sense in your body, every fibre of your being resisting the urge to collapse into a faint against Aegon's soft chest, gripping onto the bare, pale skin of his broad shoulders for dear life.

"That's it, rūs [baby], doing so-so well. It hurts I know, but Daddy's gonna make you feel so much better. Keep going, princess."

Head rolling back in admiration, you felt the intensity from between your inner thighs beginning to lessen, a wetness pooling between, coating the friction to ease the motions. Your hands release their strong hold over him, as your eyes began to wonder over his body, you had immediately noticed the raw, reddened marks lashed across his ivory skin. To avoid any more damage, you guide your relaxed hands up towards Aegon's short strands.

Tugging and playfully pulling at the loose, platinum locks, whilst Aegon's face remained buried, eagerly lapping at your petal-like skin on the base of your neck. One strong arm snaked around your back, gripping you firmly by the neck providing some lumbar support, whilst the other strategically untied the knots of lace at the front of your night gown, exposing your voluptuously full tits. Hardened nipples raw and perky, even as Aegon teasingly flicked at your tit with this thumb, a grimace forming across his handsome face you felt against your skin: kneading the swollen, plump flesh with his palm, you instinctively squirmed and moaned with such debility.

"Seven Hells, you are so fucking full, dārilaros [princess]. This babe is going to be so spoiled. Such a good Mumma, already eager with milk for the bub... Could feed the an entire realm, Mumma."

"J-Just you A-Aeg. Only you get to taste this sweet m-milk before the babe. T-Tell me how good I taste," Stuttering whimpers mottled between mouthful of moans echoed between the dense walls of Aegon's royal chambers. His fat cock still buried and plunging itself deeply inside of you, penetrating against your already tainted and filled womb, Aegon's hand cupped at your breast from beneath. Lifting your tit upwards, latching his mouth tightly against its curvature peak.

"Mhmm- Keep going big boy... M-Making me feel s-so good, A-Aeg. H-Have your full."

The imminent relief your occupied tit began to succumb to, felt like a blissful dream. You felt your breath could finally release, not hitched against your throat from the sheer agony of feeling it was about to burst. The milk you intently sensed, lusciously pouring into Aegon's ravenous mouth, his plump, moist lips suckling at your skin, totally encompassing the nipple in its entirety. His teeth lightly gnawed at your flesh, however, it was a pleasant sensation nonetheless.

"So w-warm and fresh- Gonna f-fill me up so fucking much. P-Poor princess... The weight of these, the copious a-amount- I-I'm greedy for you. Sh-Should've fucked you earlier in your womanhood... Drenching your w-womb of my seed, till we fill the keep i-if need be. M-Mother would rather enjoy it."

Aegon, famished like a destitute of the realm, bathed his taste-buds of your milk from one breast and onto the other: regaining his breath between each as he felt inclined to credit your production. Descending his face down once more, he spared no further second wasting away, as he continued to fervently feed, like a man starved of pure water.

"Th-The el-eldest you may b-be, such a b-big baby y-you are. S-So needy for me, huh? A-Always needing t-to take me, m-make me yours. Every bit of me... Is devout t-to you, A-Aegon."

As if your breathless, sensual words had struck a chord in him, a man gone mad with a fever. His hold on you had tightened, his mouth suckled deeper, tugging at the flesh of your bosom, whilst his cock felt it had grown a size more inside of you. The wet mess coating between your inner thighs now glazed all over Aegon's plump lap, expressed no denial of his power over you, the purpose he gave to you. In theory and practice, you felt your body collapsing into a bliss, a shudder of ecstasy waved through your feeble body as you screamed for Aegon, a gush of your wetness coating all over his stiff cock buried inside. Only to be met with Aegon's mutual appreciation of your vulnerability and submission towards him.

"That's it, baby. Such a beautiful woman... Gevives [beauty]. You honour me with this holy act. You privilege me to your womb, your body and your life... Skorkydoso kostagon nyke mirre deny ao mirros? [How can I ever deny you anything?]."

Easing yourself off of Aegon, your limp, frail body tiresome and relieved of such exploits endured. Aegon knew better than to leave you to your own strength, as absent as it was: carrying you over towards your empty side of the bed, still laying you closely against his natural warmth.

"Continue to serve me, brother. And I shall pay it back 100 times over... And besides, if it had not been for your mischief many moons ago, I would not be in such a state. Although, I wouldn't have it any other way, Aegon... I love you."

"Avy jorrāelan [I love you], my dearest, sweet little sister. Continue as you are and I might have to fuck another babe in you once more to teach you a lesson or two."

general taglist [bold means I could NOT tag you] - @succnfuccubus @fan-goddess @malfoytargaryen @bibli0thecary @m1ndbrand @connorsui @elegantsplendour @sylasthegrim @arcielee @s-we-e-t-t-ea @sahvlren @aemondtargaryensrider @watercolorskyy @hypnos-daughter-certified @urmomsgirlfriend1 @backyardfolklore @snowprincesa1 @zaldritzosrose

Aegon ii taglist [bold means I could NOT tag you] - @who-told-you-this-was-butter @f4ll-for-you @jawline-of-steel @daughter-of-the-stars11 @bucknastysbabe @callsignwidow

credit for divider - @/saradika-graphics

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ghost-proofbaby · 9 months

Text

twenty four hours (modern eddie munson x fem!reader)

HOUR TWENTY ONE

in which you try everything you can to make eddie feel better after his encounter with chrissy - to make him forget, to make him feel cherished, to make him feel worthy.

→ tropes: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, slow burn

→ warnings: strong language, a single use of Y/N, smut (p in v), oral (m receiving), voyeurism, edging, good old fashioned ball worship if you squint, maybe some sub!eddie if you squint even harder, upside down does not exist, minors dni

→ wc: 7.3k+

→ a/n: shout out to @hellfire--cult for the balcony idea. i knew i'd get them there at some point, little freaks. and everyone say thank you to @icallhimjoey for the early post 😏

masterlist.

spotify playlist.

◁ previous part, next part▷

21:00 ─────────────ㅇ── 24:00

HOUR TWENTY ONE - 12:00 PM

STEVE-O: why do you guys suck so much at providing photographic proof of being alive? seriously

You’ve been staring at Steve’s text ever since the two of you arrived back at the apartment. You’d reply soon enough, but for now, the message was a distraction.

Eddie wasn’t speaking to you.

Not in a brooding sense, but in a way that let you know he was too far gone in his own head right now for you to reach him. When you’d said those words to him, when you’d admitted that you found him worth it, you saw his eyes glaze over slowly. You’d watched in real time as he slipped away from you. It might be that he doesn’t believe you, it might be guilt that continues to gnaw at him for a past that can’t be changed — whatever it is, you hate it.

The easy solution would be to send Steve the photos from the cafe, but you’d already tried that. Your thumb had hovered over that photo of Eddie with a mouthful of croissant, still bright and brilliant before all his waves of self-hatred had gotten ahold of him, and you just couldn’t. It was selfish, it was ridiculous, but you couldn’t share that piece of him with others. Some small, childish, hopeless bit of you needed to cling to the man in that photo and keep him safely inside your chest. It wasn’t a new version to your friends, they’ve always tried to defend Eddie and convince you he wasn’t all bad, but it was new to you. It was all so unexpected and unforeseen, the look behind his golden eyes as he seemingly looked right past the camera and right into you.

No, you couldn’t send that photo. It was for your eyes only. A souvenir you had greedily stolen.

Eddie had excused himself to the bathroom when you two arrived at the apartment, and this time, there was no dirty intentions behind it. You left well enough alone — he needed a moment to be by himself and that was fine. You could entertain yourself until he was ready to come back to you, back down to Earth. Right now, you were currently picking apart an almond croissant as if it were the most interesting thing you’d ever laid eyes on.

Croissant dissection — see? You absolutely could distract yourself in order to give him space. Absolutely no sarcasm there.

You finally sigh when you see a message bubble pop up with three little dots, signifying Steve is typing again. You don’t give him the time to properly finish out his message before you click on your camera icon, snap a shot of the picked apart croissant in front of you, and send a message with the image attached.

YOU: we were eating breakfast, eddie’s been in the bathroom. happy, mom?

STEVE-O: he’s been in the bathroom for an entire hour?

YOU: oh, you know how you men get with toilet time.

Despite the playful tone of your texts, your face is completely flat, chest still heavy as you think about Eddie behind the wooden door. Should you be giving Eddie this amount of space? What if it’s doing more damage than good?

You’re about to stand from the stool you’ve occupied for nearly ten minutes now and go try your hand at knocking, try and remind Eddie that you’re still here, when Steve’s next text comes through.

STEVE-O: stop bullshitting me. what happened?

You swear you taste metallic blood from how hard you bite down on your bottom lip, staring at the mocking message. You can’t even begin to explain to Steve what has transpired, not just this last hour, but the entirety of the time. The parking garage, the joking marriage, Chrissy showing up, Eddie’s painful vulnerability – you can’t find the words to tell him about any of it. The same as you can’t find it in you to send the photo of Eddie in Betty’s.

YOU: nothing happened. do you need any more proof than that?

He only reacts to your message with a thumbs up. You assume that means you’re in the clear, for now.

When you exit your thread of messages with Steve, a new thread that has been started catches your eye. It’s a new number, no contact on it. The only message sent is from you – the photo of you with your coffee, head thrown back and eyes shut with a wide smile boosting your cheeks.

Eddie’s phone number.

You look at the photo of yourself for a while, trying to not cringe at your appearance. To you, you just looked ridiculous. You don’t understand why Eddie wanted this photo preserved so badly. Your smile is too wide, your eyes are mere slits from the way your cheeks were squishing up with joy, most of your makeup you’d started the night with has long since faded due to a multitude of activities. You don’t feel like anything special in this photo.

But Eddie had wanted it. He had deemed this moment in time of you as picture-worthy, had gone so far as to send it to himself so that he’d have this memory even if you deleted it from your phone.

Before you think too hard on it, you tap on that line of numbers and add a proper contact profile to it.

EDDIE. You keep the contact name simple, eager to get it out of the way as you move onto the next step. A contact photo. You don’t even have to ponder on it – in a flash, you’ve selected the picture of him with the croissant.

You’re back on the thread of messages – or, at least, the singular message – and don’t stop yourself as your thumbs begin to fly over your keyboard.

YOU: why were the almond croissants almost sold out?

To be fair, you didn’t even know if Eddie had his phone on him. That green message stares back at you for a few moments before you get your answer.

EDDIE: Excuse me?

He has his phone. You lift your head, looking at the closed door of the bathroom before glancing back down at your phone.

YOU: because everyone went NUTS over them.

You perk your ears and listen for any sign of life from down the hall. Anything. A scoff, a pitiful laugh, him calling you stupid aloud. You’ll take whatever he offers.

It takes a moment, and you truly have to strain to hear it, but you can hear the laugh that would better pass as a sigh.

EDDIE: Is that supposed to be a joke?

YOU: ‘supposed to be’. excuse me, it was definitely a joke. and a very good one, at that.

EDDIE: Debatable.

You find yourself smiling down at the phone. Your neck aches from the way you keep glancing up suddenly at the door, silently pleading for him to come back out. To come out and fight with you, come out and bicker with you, come out and ignore you. Anything, for him to leave the bathroom and do anything but keep that door shut between you two.

He doesn’t, so you send another bad joke.

YOU: what did the customer say when they looked at the croissant?

This time, he plays along.

EDDIE: I don't know, what?

YOU: what a BREADtaking sight.

This time, you hear a more proper scoff come from within the bathroom.

YOU: i heard that. don’t even try to tell me it wasn’t funny.

EDDIE: I’m not laughing because they’re funny. I’m laughing because they’re BAD.

YOU: bet you wouldn’t say that to my face.

Immediately, you discard the phone, facedown on the counter as you look up to the door with unbridled hope. He could always ignore the comment, choose to not respond and continue to sulk away from you. It’s entirely possible – but you pray to every star in the sky that that isn’t what he’s going to do.

Please come back out. Please, even if just to sit in silence with me.

Your prayers are answered.

Slowly, painfully slowly, you hear shuffling on the other side of the door and await for the click of the door unlocking. It never comes, though – the door was never locked in the first place. He opens it, and you realize that the entire time, you could have stormed into the small room with him and demanded that he not hide away.

But you didn’t. You gave him space, gave him patience, and it’s clear he knows this as he comes out.

His eyes are red. As if he’s been crying.

“Hi,” you meekly say, taking in his face past those red-rimmed eyes. The tip of his nose is a fading shade of pink, as if he’s been rubbing it incessantly, and he sniffs for good measure as he turns the bathroom light off and walks to where you are.

“Hi,” his voice is rough around the edges as he greets you back. He won’t look you in the eye once he’s within reach – his gaze remains downcast, and you catch him fiddling with a few of his rings.

You hadn’t considered what you would do if you got this far. In every carefully considered scenario, you’d assumed he’d shut you out. You never expected him to come straight to you, as if seeking out comfort from you, without you having to beg it of him.

His eyes catch the croissants on the counter, torn apart and lazily picked at. He’s about to open his mouth and say something about it, probably questioning what you had done to the poor pastry, but you don’t give him a chance. You’re quick to snatch up one of the pieces you’d been picking apart to snack on for yourself and hold it out to him. An olive branch, an offering – a reason for him to sit and stay for a while with you.

He takes it tentatively, finally looking you in your eye again as he takes a small bite. It’s nothing compared to the bite he had taken when you’d snapped the photo of him, mere crumbs compared to that mouthful.

“Did you just… massacre our croissants?” he questions, squinting his eyes down at the crime scene.

You shift your body jokingly, failing at blocking him from seeing the mess you made, “Absolutely not. I have no clue what you’re talking about.”

He almost cracks a grin, “Right. Of course. I must be imagining things.”

“Wanna hear another pun?” you blurt out, suddenly nervous as he continues to stand before you. You hate the incessant need inside of your chest that calls for you to comfort him, to make this all better for him.

“I feel like you’ll tell me one even if I say no,” he raises an eyebrow at you, “So, sure.”

“Why did the croissant go to the doctor?”

He hums, trying to peer over your shoulder again at the croissants you were badly hiding, “Let me guess. Is it because you tore it apart mercilessly?”

“No,” you scoff, reaching behind you to grab another piece to offer to him as well as one of your own, “It was because he was feeling crummy, dumb ass.”

A crack of a smile. It’s miniscule but there. It makes that terrible pun worth it, just to see him not looking quite as defeated is worth all the stars in the sky at this point for you.

You’d certainly been the reason for his unhappiness in the past, and you surely would be again at some point. It all feels so inevitable; just as he believes that he can only bring you misery, you can’t imagine yourself bringing him joy. A belief that strikes something in your chest, something albeit more painful than you’d care to admit, but it’s true. You’ve crossed a line, you’ve changed everything, but the past still remains.

You aren’t perfect. Neither is Eddie.

Heartbreak is imminent, but for this brief moment, you can make him smile. You don’t need to worry about the next time you’ll piss him off or upset him, you just need to focus on making that twitch on his lips more permanent.

“I meant what I said earlier, by the way,” you decide to rip off the bandaid as he moves as if to sit beside you. Quickly, your words make him freeze. A bad sign, but you push through, because he needs to hear these things, “You deserve good things, Eddie. Good people, good things- you just… you deserve those things in your life.”

“I don’t.”

“You do.”

He’s turning away from you. Turning and heading to the living room, walking away from you.

You don’t let him. In an instant, you get onto your feet and follow him, continuing despite him acting as if he’s finished with the conversation. You’re not.

“You’re a good person, Eddie,” you insist, reaching out for him before he makes it to the couch, “Don’t walk away from me.”

He spins easily in your grip. “Just because you say something, doesn’t make it true, sweetheart.”

He’s back to saying it like a curse. Like it’s a harmful title. As if it’s not a privilege to you and all your metaphors to hear that nickname fall from his lips.

Right before your eyes, his defenses are on the rise. Brick by brick, he’s slowly reforming those walls to separate the two of you. Instead of defeat, instead of acceptance, it just makes you angry.

“Stop doing that,” you say quietly, carefully, firmly.

“Stop doing what?”

“That. Pushing me away. Locking me out,” you tighten your hand on his bicep and watch the way his nostrils flare, “I fucking hate it.”

“Despite what you believe,” he takes a step closer to you, “Not everything I do is meant to piss you off.”

“That’s not what I’m saying, and we both know it,” you can feel his muscles tense beneath your touch.

This time, his smile that emerges is cold. But you can still see the rubbage left by his tears — pink water lines and a new puffiness around his eyes. His words and his sudden cool demeanor can’t hurt you when you see it for what it is.

“Clearly we both don’t know it,” he chastised you, “We are very rarely on the same page. This isn’t a damn exception. You don’t have to prove your point, it doesn’t matter.”

He’s a wounded animal, striking out. He’s letting Chrissy’s words get to him.

“You’re worth i-“

“Don’t,” One of his hands shoot out to grip your waist, “Don’t fucking say that. Please. Don’t say it if you don’t mean it.”

He didn’t believe you.

“I meant it,” you whisper, anger shaking out of your grasp inch by inch as you realize that your words can’t break through to him, “I mean it. You’re worth it, to me, to St-“

“This isn’t about Steve,” he cuts you off, “It’s not about Steve, or Nancy, or Robin, or fucking Argyle. No need to play dumb anymore.”

It’s about you.

You both know it. For once, contradictory to what he’d just claimed, you’re both on the same page. And like he said, no need to play dumb.

“You’re worth it to me,” you say it with more confidence this time, “You’re a good person to me.”

“How can you say that?” he laughs out, void of amusement, “How can you say shit like that after everything we’ve been through?”

How can you not?

You only squeeze his bicep tighter, and he returns the action by gripping your hip harsher. “Because I mean it. I believe it. Whether you do or not.”

For a moment, the cracks in his armor expose themselves.

“You shouldn’t,” his voice should waver, “You shouldn’t believe those things, Y/N. You should hate me.”

“But I don’t,” And I never did.

“But you don’t,” he echoes.

You’ve done the opposite of what you had wanted. His smile is gone, that sadness creeping back up. You hate that. You don’t hate him — you hate that world of mourning behind his eyes, that defeat that brings his shoulders down and makes his grip on you falter. So you do the only thing you can think of to distract him. Make him forget.

“Make me hate you.”

His eyes widen briefly, “Excuse me?”

“Make me hate you,” you practically beg of him, “Show me why you’re such a bad person and I’ll let this go. I’ll drop the conversation, we can- Fuck, we can forget this entire morning happened. Make me hate you, Eddie, and I’ll stop reminding you that I don’t.”

His fingers curl back into you, slowly and gently, as his brows furrow. He’s considering what you’ve just said — more than that, you can see him trying to untangle all the hidden meanings behind it.

“And how do you suggest I do that?” his voice is low and calculated.

You shrug, stepping forward, letting your lips get even closer to his, “Not my problem. Just make me.”

The fingers are no longer gentle as he pulls you into him, finally catching onto the emphasis you place on those two little words.

Make me.

When his lips meet yours, they’re rough and brutal, taking greedily what they want from you. The only thing on your mind is making him forget. Make him forget, carry the load for him — they’re both more important than making him smile for now. Both these driving needs burn brighter in your chest because it’s clear that’s what he needs.

You’re willing to give him whatever he needs right now.

“You want me to make you hate me, baby?” he mumbled against your lip, practically drinking in the way you gasp as he starts to pull back, “Is that really what you want?”

It’s what you want. “Yes.”

And maybe you do too, when he leans back in to bite your lip. There will be another time for you to convince him with words that you find him to be worth it. Both hands from wrap around you and rough start to guide you back towards that fucking couch.

“Not the couch,” you suddenly protest, digging your heels into the carpet at the center of his living room, “Anywhere but the couch.”

And oh, the way he’s looking at you in that moment might be your new favorite thing. Your new favorite color is his eyes as they sparkle with a bit of life that had been missing since the coffee shops encounter. Your new favorite sound is the silence that encases the little breath he lets out. Your new favorite movie is watching him move in slow motion as his eyes dart behind you, towards the door to his balcony, before his lips finally curl up with a hint of the genuine warmth that had been hidden behind his walls.

“Anywhere?” he teases, beginning to walk you backwards.

You nod, grinning right back at him.

“I think I have an idea.”

If you had known twenty one hours ago that Eddie Munson, your sworn enemy, would have you out on his public balcony and on your knees for him in only a matter of time, past you would have….

Well, you don’t really care what past you would have done or thought anymore. You’re making him forget, yes, all while making yourself forget. You don’t care what you, twenty one hours ago, would or wouldn’t do as you let the past slip through your fingers so eagerly. All you can focus on is the dig of concrete against your knees, the way Eddie’s hands grip the railing as he leans against it, and the way the early afternoon sun forms a halo around him as you look up through fluttering lashes.

You just want to make him feel good. Every action is intentional, doing everything in your power to erase whatever storming thoughts had been haunting him so cruelly since Chrissy had so carelessly said what she had. You want to make him feel worthy. You want to make him feel loved.

Loved. You certainly didn’t love him — you couldn’t possibly, could you? He wouldn’t let you. You wouldn’t let yourself. But for now, you could play pretend; you could worship his body, drag his shirt out of the way and place playful kisses across his hips, and you could pretend that only this moment exists.

“You wanna know what makes me such a bad person?” he sighs out as you let your teeth graze his skin, shoulders rolling to shake off that shiver you elicit from him, “This. The fact that this is all I can fucking think about.”

“Hm,” you can only hum in response, nails taking over the denim of the jeans he currently wore. You walk your fingers up his thighs, moving closer and closer to his zipper. Your mouth is nearly watering at the prospect of worshiping him.

And the fact that any neighbor could walk out at any given moment and catch the two of you. You should probably insist on it being fast, on him being quiet, but the thought sends a thrill through the pit of your stomach. Your thighs clench and your cunt aches at the thought of being caught.

You want to do more than make him bite back mere moans of your name. You want to make him scream.

Suddenly, a hand tangles into the roots of your hair, pulling back and making you focus on him again.

“Eyes on me,” he instructs. Once you focus on him and only him, he continues, loosening his grip and letting those fingertips rub at your scalp soothingly, “You know why you should hate me? For all the nights I pictured this.”

“Yeah?” you smile innocently, playing along. He can talk all he wants, you know once you get your mouth on him, he’ll be lucky to remember his own name. “How many nights, hm? Tell me all about them, pretty boy.”

You catch the wobble in his knees, the way his breathing picks up, the brilliant shade of ivory his knuckles stretch to. You lean back on your haunches, and the hand in your hair slips as he glowers down at you.

“What are you-”

“Take off your shirt,” you calmly command.

“Excuse me?”

“Your shirt. I want it off.”

His hand that was once tangled against your scalp now comes down to your face, movement slow but not hesitant as he pinches your chin. His thumb tugs on your bottom lip, and you let out, even making a show of letting your tongue peek out to tap at it. “And who said you were calling the shots?”

“I did,” you put it simply, completely removing your hands from him now, “Take off the shirt, or I’ll leave you out here with blue balls.”

You close your lips around the end of his thumb and his knuckles dig in deeper to the skin below your chin as you suck subtly. He chuckles, but you can hear just how breathless he goes at the small action, even as he keeps up the act with a hard press of his thumb on your lower lip. Your mouth hangs open for him, waiting patiently for his next move.

A game of chess, an exchange of power, a fight for dominance. All the lines of who is and isn’t in control are blurred.

“Have you always been so mean, baby?” he taunts, trailing what spit you’d left behind on his thumb along your lip.

His movement stops when your lips spread into a provocative smile, “I learned from the best, didn’t I?”

The retort had potential to backfire. You wait for smoke and glory, for him to pull away from you further. He’d slam down a brick right in front of your face, lay the mortar to leave you high and dry. He’d push you away, and you’d have to retreat, tail tucked between your legs in the shame of trying when it came to him.

No smoke, no glory. He secedes, but makes no move to add to his walls, only removing his hand from your face and taking off the shirt. Just as you had told him to.

“Better?” he asks as he makes a show of tossing the shirt to the other side of the balcony. It could have even flown over the railing, for all you paid attention to the scrap of clothing. Maybe some innocent bystander is on the streets below, confused to all Hell as to why it’s raining obscure band t-shirts.

You’re just a bit too distracted to consider that right now.

With Eddie’s torso revealed, all words seem to evade you. You catch the sweat beginning to gather across his sternum, watching the way he’s flushing beneath your gaze, reveling in the pink chest exposed to you as the blush crawls wider. Instantly, your original purpose is forgotten, the primal urge to pepper kisses and bites alike across his skin almost lifting you up off your sore knees. You want to leave bruises – you want to make him scream, you want to mark him up, you want to make him feel worthy.

You stay on your knees, but compromise with all your wants as you lift up and stretch a bit. Your lips start their trail a bit lower than you (or Eddie) would have liked, taking their time to get familiar with the spanse of his rib cage first. You don’t nip with teeth, not yet. Just chaste kisses, lining each bone you can hardly feel residing beneath the skin, feeling his lungs expanding against your affection. Your tongue swipes alongside one of his side tattoos, a large and detailed dragon you hadn’t paid much mind to before. Every time you’d seen him shirtless, you’d been a bit distracted.

Not now. Now, you’re focused, determined to learn every curve and dip there is to explore on Eddie. You want to know him better than the back of your hands, memorize him more intricately than your own palms. After all, in order to worship a deity, you must know them.

You return back to the center line of his abdomen, kisses chasing after one another, even taking the time to suck his skin between your teeth but never bite down. You pause once your lips rest right beneath his navel, the tip of your nose brushing that rough patch of hair that leads down to your end destination. Your hands reach for his belt, toying with the buckle.

Through heavy lashes, you look up at him, staring down at you in awe, “You know, you’re not doing a very good job at making me hate you, pretty boy. Think I might just have to worship you instead.”

A deity of your own making. A deity for your own taking.

With skill, your hands undo the buckle effortlessly. You unbutton and unzip his jeans as if you’ve done this part a million times, as if you’d spent every single Sunday of the last year right here and doing exactly this. On your knees, worshiping him. This balcony, for all its exposure, certainly knows how to serve as a holy place.

He opens his mouth to respond, but you’re impatient. You still haven’t left him speechless, meaning you still hadn’t made your point, clearly.

His jeans hang loosely as they creep down his thighs, abandoned for a moment as you occupy your mouth against his hips. The hips you once thought would look so pretty properly decorated. You decide you were wrong – they don’t need ink burying into the skin, they need your teeth digging in.

You cover that skin with mirroring images of bursts of purple and pink, flowering bruises that you take your time to mark onto him. With each suck and bite, Eddie rolls his hips into you, head leaned back and throat straining with each moan he swallows down.

With the last hickey finished, you finally lean back, proud of your masterpiece as Eddie whimpers above you. Blooms in the shape of your lips mingle with faint and quickly fading teeth marks.

“Fuck,” he gasps out when your fingertip stops trailing over your markings and comes down to apply the softest pressure over the straining bulge in his boxers.

“What was it that you said earlier?” your finger traces over where you know a vein is – you know it because you’ve felt it, been driven insane by it – before circling around the wet patch now forming. He’s desperate, hips bucking again and a moan finally escaping. You think he’s bitten his lips hard enough in an attempt at self-restraint that they might be bleeding, “You said I’m not calling the shots, right?”

“You’re not,” he pathetically grits out, hands forming tighter fists on metal railing, as if the moment he lets go of it they’ll find their way home to you.

You lean forward, breath washing over his crotch before you place a feathery kiss to his clothed tip, “I’m not?”

You are. You both know you are. A constant battle of control, an ever-growing fight for dominance.

He lets out something crossed between a sigh of relief and a whine of protest when you remove your lips and hand from him completely, only to let out a sharp yelp when your finger curls into the waistband of his boxers and pulls back the elastic, letting it snap back into place sharply.

“Say I am,” you barter, “Say I’m in control right now, and I’ll put my money where my mouth is.”

You don’t expect him to break so easily. You’ve underestimated just how tightly you’ve caught him beneath your thumb.

“You’re in control,” he gasps out, head hanging low to meet your gaze fully, “You’re in complete and utter fucking control of me. You’re calling all the shots, baby. You always are.”

He didn’t have to sweeten it up with baby, but it spurs you on.

You shove his boxers down, watching his cock spring out for the taking. And you do as you promised; you put your money where your mouth is.

You start softly, taking your time as you gingerly suck on his pretty pink tip as you had his thumb. Hardly hollowing your cheeks, letting your tongue circle his slit to gather up the precum. You let the taste of him completely cover your tongue, even hum in satisfaction when he lets out a loud groan. It motivates you, feeds your fervor as you let his tip fall from your mouth and trail the tip of your tongue down the underside of his cock. That vein you’d traced with your fingertip, yours for the taking, covered in a faint line of saliva as you let it rest on your forehead and graze your lips against his ballsack.

He can’t hide his shiver, even as his fist flies to his mouth to bite down on.

“Have I ever told you how cute you are?” you say low enough for just him. You can hear the sounds of traffic, a dog barking, birds singing — all reminders of the outside world and the looming threat of being caught. Warmth floods you again at the reminder of that threat, thighs clenching closer together in a desperate search of friction, “Just falling apart for me, acting so tough for so long until I got you alone.”

He whimpers your name. It’s the prettiest sound you’ve ever heard.

You wrap your lips around the sensitive skin, sucking and pecking away on one side before moving to the next. His reaction throttles your movements. When his hand loses the fight of resistance, coming down to the back of your head, you laugh breathlessly against the now wet skin.

“Let me make you feel just how worthy you are to me,” you praise, pulling back finally, letting your nose brush against his sack as you do so. The hand that was once merely resting now tangles up in your hair — a warning.

You let the velvet skin of his cock drag down your cheek as each movement is deliberate, taking your time and in no rush. You want to savor him like this. Imprint him to memory.

You want to make him forget while making yourself remember.

You want to remember the way his hand flexes at the base of your skull when you finally kiss his tip once more, remember the way his abdomen tenses as you sink him further into your mouth. You want to remember every little sound that escapes him as he hits the back of your throat, as you constrict around him, as you moan around his base and the vibrations have him slipping out of control.

Your nails dig into his thighs to balance yourself, eyes watering as you look up at him. One subtle nod. He doesn’t need more than that.

Your jaw goes slack, trying to steady your breathing through your nose as you let him take control. His hips thrust at their own pace, gentle enough that he only grazes the back of your throat rather than bruise it. The issue is you want him to bruise it. You want him to mark you from the inside out. Until there’s no part of you left untouched by him.

You gag again, and he slows. Your fingers that grip his thighs immediately tap against him, and he mistakes it as a signal to pull back completely before you chase after him, pressing him onto your tongue until your lips are snug around his cock a mere inch from the base. Your nose is grazing those pubes in the dead center of all your love marks. Shapes of semi-permanent scars that whisper, you’re worth it to me. I want this. I want you.

The last thing on his mind was Chrissy Cunningham and her words alluding to him not being worth it.

You make sure of it when you finally release him from your mouth and begin to pump with an eager fist, ducking down and returning to pay attention to his balls once more. You nuzzle the soft skin, let the tips of your canines graze them before you suck them onto your tongue as you’d done his cock. He’s no longer containing his moans – they flow freely along with curse words, chants of your name, sounds you’d love to capture and play on repeat until the end of your days.

“Oh my God,” he groans out particularly loudly, “Fuck, baby. J-Just like that, please- Fuck. You’re doing so good for me. Such a good girl, just for me.”

Your hand is still wrapped around him, slowly coming up to squeeze hard around the tip as you whisper up to him, “Only for you.”

“Yeah? Only for me?”

You don’t know how to explain to him that it’s true: you’re only ever that mean for him, you’re only ever this eager for him, you’re only ever this desperate for him.

You don’t answer him with words. There are none. Instead, you take him back in your mouth, and you solely focus on bringing your deity to climax. The man you were worshiping, the man who was worth the ache in your knees that surely told you they would be left bruised, if not skinned.

“Is it just like you imagined?” you question as you break your lips off him. He’s close, leaking precum excessively and entire body taut, “Was it worth it? To picture this, to want this so badly?”

He almost can’t answer you, but somehow manages between pants, “It was. It is. You’re- fuck, you’re worth it.”

“Good,” you drop your hand from him, leaving him right on the edge as you rest both sticky palms on the tops of your thighs. You look up at him with relinquished control – the perfect image of submission, for him. “Then you get it. When I say you’re worth it, you get it.”

He’s clearly still reeling from you bringing him so close only to leave him hanging, teetering on a cliff as he stares you down.

His chest heaves as he questions, “What was it you wanted me to do earlier?” A deceiving hand comes down, tucking any baby hairs behind your ear and cradling the side of your face. One moment, his thumb is stroking a soft arch beneath your eye, the next that hand is pulling you up, “Make you?”

You know that if you hadn’t been so eager to follow his touch, you’d still be on your knees. Even as you watch him take the reins, you know you will always call the shots – just like he had said.

“You really think you can make me hate you?” you whisper once you’re standing tall in front of him, leaning your cheek into his touch.

“I shouldn’t have to make you hate me,” he corrects, the thumb back to gentle strokes, loosening the touch to be more tender once again, “You should already hate me.”

“Why?”

He flips positions immediately, your lower back now curving into the railing as he presses himself up against you, his achingly hard cock between your bodies, “Because of this. Because I always want you on your knees for me. Because of all the fucking filth I want to do to you. I want to bend you over, right here, and take you where anyone could see. I want to have you screaming my name loud enough that every single person on the streets of this city hears you.”

With each word, a knot ties inside of you, desperate for release.

“Because you’re fucking right,” he leans down, lips going straight for your neck, not looking you in the eyes, “All it fucking took was for you to get me alone for one night, and now? I’ll never get enough of you, I’ll never get clean of you,” he takes a deep breath, and suddenly, his lips latch onto you, sucking the skin between his teeth and biting hard. You can’t stop your fingers from latching onto his curls, tugging hard, body rolling into his. It hurts, it stings, you need more, “Everything changes. And that includes me.”

His face finally leaves the crook of your neck, pulling back to look you in your eyes. Doe brown eyes search yours, wide and honest and pleading. You let everything else melt away; for a moment, it’s only him and only you. The tension, the last twenty one hours, the last year — you let it disintegrate and focus on him.

It never mattered if everything changed.

It only matters that he’s changed, irreversibly, and so are you.

“How can I hate you for those things?” you press into him again, this time less desperate and more consciously, “Do it.”

“Do what?”

“All of it,” you trail a hand up his chest, “Every single thing you just said. Fucking- Do them. Bend me over, make me scream, change me,” your voice breaks, shaking with anticipation and need.

It’s all the encouragement he needs.

Every single thing he wanted, he craved, he does. A flurry of him properly discarding his jeans as he unbuttons yours to shove them down, spinning you and shoving you hard enough into the railing that it digs into your abdomen and leaves you breathless. You’re hardly aware of the way you step out of your pants and kick them to the side, looking out to the city skyline but not seeing it. It’s all a blur as you focus on the way your shirt rides up and he grabs your hips, bruising you finally as you have desperately needed.

You wanted to be left haunted by the end of these last few hours. You wanted to see him every time you looked in the mirror for the next week, to remember the map of where his body molded to yours. You want to dream of the way he stretches you as your underwear is ripped to the side. You want to be followed by the sounds of his skin slapping against yours as he snaps forward with intention.

Changing you. He has no idea that he’s already ripped you open from the inside out, has already rewired your entire chest and set flames to your brain.

Everything changes, and sometimes, everything is only two people. Just you. Just him. New versions that would have never met had it not been for this stupid fucking bet.

“Eddie,” you nearly sob, nearly choke on, his name burning in your throat like kindling embers.

His hand walks up your spine, trailing wildfire even with a layer of cotton between you two. Burning and singing away all you’d assumed for far too long. When he reaches the nape of your neck, he takes care in wrapping your hair around his wrist, tugging back hard and forcing you to stand from where the railing had been bending you in two.

“Say it again,” his lips brush you ear with every gasping breathing, timing with the way his cock is sliding in and out of your warmth, “Say it louder.”

“Fu-“ you start to moan, cut off by him pulling even harder on your hair, making his point so that you cry out, “Eddie!”

He thrusts harder. You swear you could feel him in your throat.

“Scream for me, baby,” an arm wraps around your torso, firm and solid for you to cling to rather than the warming metal of the railing, “Tell them who’s making you feel so good. Let them know. Be a good girl.”

Even when he claims to have control, it’s your actions, your reactions, that call the shots.

It’s the echo of your voice that spurs him on as you chant his name over and over, as if he were your only God. Primal worship dripping from every syllable. It’s the tremble in your thighs that has him pressing deeper into you, chest glued to your back as if he could never get you close enough. It’s the clench of your cunt around him, a vice that sucks him in as you drag him closer to the high he’s been dizzily chasing since you first dropped to your knees in front of him.

It’s you. You’ve changed him, as he’s changed you.

He pulls your hair until you rest the back of your head against his shoulder, back arching and feet still spread as he only maintains his quick and brutal pace, leaning down to whisper in your ear one last time.

“You know the real reason why you should hate me?” he grits out between to particularly forceful thrusts, “It’s not just because I don’t deserve you. It’s because I’ve wanted you for so long,” you’re right on the edge, fluttering around his cock as his movements stutter. A tell tale sign. “I- fuck, fuck. It’s- God, I’ve loved you for so long, and I’ll never be fucking worthy.”

You shatter around him in waves. Your entire body tenses as the words dig claws into you, piercing through vines and blooms. His body stills, warmth flooding you deep within as you continue to see stars. You can’t make a single sound, fingerprints surely left behind on where you clasp onto his forearm.

I’ve loved you for so long, and I’ll never be fucking worthy.

When the waves recede, when the high has passed its peak, you both freeze. Your body tensed in his hold, struggling to process what he’d just said.

Loved you.

He’s frozen in place, scrambling to figure out how to undo the damage just done.

I’ve loved you for so long.

He slips out of you, his spent dripping down your thighs. His forearm drops from you. Your hands don’t even try to stop him.

I’ll never be fucking worthy.

You should be worried of neighbors coming out to see the two of you on his balcony. If not worried, you should be embarrassed, or aching at the thought once again. Anything. You should feel something.

You turn slowly to him, entirely numb as you catch his rueful expression.

Loved you. He loved you.

His regret turns to pain as you whisper, “What did you just say?”

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#my writing #twenty four hours #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfic #if it's bad do not tell me #stranger things

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killerpancakeburger · 9 days

Text

Breaking point (2/2)

SUMMARY: Civilian!Reader, who works as Price's assistant, has a breakdown at work. Soap+Ghost help the best they can. Hurt/comfort. Can be read as platonic or romantic. Gender Neutral Reader.

PAIRINGS: Soap x GN!Reader

Ghost's version (1/2)

TAGS: Hurt/comfort. Military inaccuracies (I make shit up for the sake of the plot). Soap is tooth-rotting sweet.

WARNINGS: Mention of relative in the hospital, suicide ideation, depressive thoughts, swearing.

WORD COUNT: 4.3k

A/N: Very self-indulgent, Reader is going through it and so am I. 🙃Soap is Prince Fucking Charming (very cliché romance tropes). Yours truly suggest to listen to "Strong For Somebody Else" by Citizen Soldier to set the mood. (Song includes suicide ideation and depressive thoughts too, so listen at your own risk).

This bad good boy gave me a harder time than expected lol.

After ending the call, you put down your phone on your desk in a daze, hand shaking.

The news you’ve just been told cannot be real. Life could not possibly be that cruel. What did I do to deserve this? you wonder helplessly. It’s like every time you get back up, life knocks you down again, sending you tumbling on the cold, hard ground.

Clenching your fists, you stare into space, a thousand thoughts disorderly swirling inside your brain, all bursting with anguish, until a burning tear running down your cheek brings you back to the present. You’re at work, your boss is in the next room; a breakdown is a luxury you cannot afford right now. Better bite your tongue hard enough to draw blood than be caught sobbing.

Inhaling a shaky breath, you take your head between your hands, shoving your fingers into your hair, trying to convince yourself to postpone your nervous collapse. Only one hour left, and you’ll be free to cry your eyes out at your flat. Or on the way home, even. It’s not like the other passengers ever paid you attention the other times you’ve cried on the bus.

But somehow your attempts have the opposite effect, and more tears roll down your face, staining the papers beneath it. As you furiously wipe your face with your sleeve, with a blend of frustration and despair, pissed at yourself, and wanting to get rid of the evidence of your fragile state as fast as possible, the unmistakable sound of your office’s door opening makes you look up.

Of freaking course of all bloody people that could have walked in on you, it had to be Soap fucking Mactavish. Only the most gorgeous man on base - according to you, that is.

You weren't proud of it, but you had a crush on him since you arrived, six months ago. His piercing cerulean eyes, rugged good looks and outgoing personality wouldn’t let you know peace. The mere sight of him was enough to bring a goofy smile to your face, and every conversation between the two of you left you blushing and elated.

You initially thought that this silly, juvenile infatuation would fade away soon enough. Ok, he was beautiful, and he had eyes to damn yourself for, so what? Surely with enough time and exposure, he'd feel mundane. But things didn’t go that way at all.

On top of looking stunning, he just had to be friendly. He made you feel welcome when you arrived. He made efforts to include you in conversations, asking questions to get to know you. He relieved you of the burden of small talk, appeasing your social anxiety, by happily keeping the conversation going on his own, never taking offense when you had nothing to say. He chose to spend some of his free time with you, escorting you back from the archives or dropping by your office.

He was even flirty at times. Flirty. With you.

You could have still disregarded all this; tell yourself he was like this with everyone, that it was just his personality; imagining things would only end up with you hurt in the end.

But then, during a meeting, you witnessed his sincere concern for civilian lives. His righteous anger against unjust orders, when you had fully expected a soldier to obey mindlessly.

This had been your undoing; the moment you knew you were a goner. A severe fondness for him had sunk its claws deep inside your chest and had no intent to let go. It didn’t mean you had any intention to declare your feelings though; you never entertained the thought that he could return them, therefore there was no need for any confession.

For him to be the one to have caught you in this state, it was downright humiliating. Especially since his good heart would make him feel obligated to care.

He was still wearing his leather, fingerless gloves, and some dirt lingered on the contour of his face, like he tossed his weapons and his flak jacket to the side right out of the heli bringing him back to base, and rushed here.

“Hiya hen, brought you the- Shite, what happened?”

His booming voice and cheerful tone fade away as his eyes widen with concern. He briefly freezes at the door in shock before closing the distance to your desk with great strides. You lower your eyes in shame, avoiding his gaze.

“Nothing. Nothing happened. Everything's fine.”

“No offense, bonnie, but yer not very good at lying.”

You bit your lip, forcing yourself to look at him. Staring at your own lap is only going to make you seem more suspicious.

You grit your teeth and lie some more, trying to sound carefree.

“It's nothing, really. I'm just being a crybaby.”

Crybaby.

Soap turns the word over in his mind, unconvinced.

He still remembers that one time when you showed up thirty minutes late to a meeting with the Task Force, panting, leaning on the threshold, the front of your clothes soaked in blood.

“Sorry I’m late,” you started.

“‘Sorry’ isn’t going to cut it,” Price interrupted before laying eyes on you. “Bloody hell, what happened to you?”

You explained how Private what's-his-name bled out in the break room after carelessly reopening his stitches and you had to stop the hemorrhage with your bare hands and a bunch of paper towels while shouting yourself hoarse for help. Yet when Price ordered you to take the rest of the day off, you insisted on going on as usual, forcing their captain to make it clear that it wasn’t a mere suggestion.

You and him had a different definition of “crybaby”.

Clinging to what's familiar, you focus on the stack of papers under his arm.

“You have the latest reports? Give it here.”

You hold out your hand expectantly. Instead of giving them to you, he sets them down on the opposite side of your desk, out of your reach.

“Paperwork can wait.”

You blink in astonishment at him.

“No it cannot…?”

You roll your eyes at his behavior and get up to seize the reports, but he snatches them from you. You can feel your composure snap like a twig.

“Johnny, what the hell?!” you yell, throwing your hands in the air.

You could remember exactly the first time you called him Johnny, only because it had been such an embarrassment. You couldn’t get used to his alias; sure you had been warned beforehand that some of them were… original, but somehow "Soap" was the one that stood out as the most ridiculous. You briefly entertained the idea of using his first name, except that for you “John” already referred to Captain Price. Only once you tried to call him Mr Mactavish, and as a result Gaz and him guffawed so hard they almost fell off their chairs. Even Ghost let out a cough that was most definitely a concealed laugh. You were running out of options until you heard the lieutenant call him Johnny; you instantly liked it. It just… fitted him.

From that moment on you used the nickname, but only in your mind. You didn’t have any of the liberties Ghost had and you wouldn’t take them, out of respect, and shyness. Or at least this had been the plan until you fumbled and called him that to his face. The ensuing silence felt deafening as you were realizing what you’ve just done, and you apologized immediately, mortified.

He just laughed it off; said you could keep calling him that. True, he had appeared more surprised than irritated, but you didn’t want to take the risk of him simply being polite. This too, had been your plan, until he ruined it merily.

Somehow he must have noticed your efforts to not slip up again because he teased you about it.

“Not Johnny today? Did ah dae something wrong?”

You went back to “Johnny” quickly - anything to put an end to the mischievous glint in his eye and the rascally smirk on his lips aimed at you. Being the target of his undivided attention sent a pang in your chest and knots in your stomach. Those sensations weren't exactly unpleasant, but it led to an ominous feeling that this was too good to be true, and that at any second this vision would shatter to reveal the cruel reality; so you'd just grant him a timid smile to confirm he did amuse you, but then proceed to look away.

It's the first time you’re pronouncing “Johnny” with anger; real, raw annoyance, as well as animosity, instead of the fond frustration you usually display when he messes around.

To your utter disbelief, he smiles in response to your outburst.

“There we go, talk tae me. Even if it’s just tae scream at me.”

The remark pacifies you instantly; you lower your arms, defeated.

“I'm not gonna… I don't want to scream at you.”

You sigh and sit back, setting down your elbows on your desk to take your head between your hands, overburdened.

“The hell you want me to tell you? That my mom's on the brink of death out of nowhere? That when she's gone I'll be all alone in this world?”

You swear, aggravated, as tears sting your eyes again, and this time you ignore if you'll be capable of holding back the flood.

Nevertheless you can still hear Soap curse under his breath, Scottish accent growing thicker, before moving to get on your side of the desk, to reach you, dispensing soft-spoken, soothing words along the way. You pivot to face him, your burning eyes and the sensation of dried tears on your face making you painfully aware that you must look as pathetic as you feel.

Your eyes widen in surprise when you see him kneeling at your feet. His hands reach for your face, slowly enough to give you time to back away if you wanted to.

“A'm sorry, ah didnae mean tae mak' ye cry, a'm a bloody eejit. …Can I?”

His fingers stopped a breath away from your tear-stained cheeks.

At that exact moment you can’t quite believe what he's about to do, yet you nod your head in agreement - not trusting your voice to not break - all the same, the gaping void in your chest aching for any kind of contact he'd be willing to provide.

His warm fingers cup your cheeks as the pad of his thumbs gently, almost reverently, wipe the underside of your eyes.

“There we go,” he cajoles, meticulously drying any wet spot on your skin.

“A'm ‘ere whether ye want tae talk or not, aye? A'm not going anywhere.”

You stare at him in silence, thunderstruck by the scene unfolding in front of you. Never in your wildest dreams you would have expected to have this man at your feet. He sets his hands down on your knees, squeezing them softly, and is looking right at you, encouraging smile and tender gaze, reassurance radiating from his expression. The position allows you to greedily take in every little detail: the white line of the scar on his chin, the breathtaking shades of blue in his eyes, the gap in his left eyebrow.

As you lose yourself into the work of art that are his features, he keeps conversing.

“We should take yer mind aff things. We could play board games in tha rec room. Or ye could let aff some steam wi’ tha punching bag in tha training room! Ah could teach ye how tae shoot on tha shooting range-”

You open your eyes wide as his suggestions turn progressively more violent.

“I have a bus to catch, and that's overlooking the fact that I haven't done anything in my last hour of work today…”

“If anyone gives you trouble, just say ah forced you.”

You chuckle at the idea.

“You'd never compel me to do anything.”

You can’t repress a loving smile. Johnny just feels that safe to you.

He smirks mischievously at that.

“Na, but they'll believe ah dragged ye intae mah evil schemes.”

He punctuates his statement by a roguish wink that wrests a laughter from you.

“You should take my bed,” he declares suddenly, serious again.

As the silence between you two stretches and your smile is replaced by a mix of shock, confusion, and worry, he realizes how this may sound. Flustered, he starts rambling to defuse the situation.

“Wait, no- steamin’ jesus - Ah didnae mean it like that! I’d take the couch in the rec room, ‘f course. Ye shouldn't go through tonight alone.”

“Oh my god, Johnny, I could never take your bed from you. You must already sleep on the floor so often for missions…”

“Exactly, hen. This is nothing for me. The couch is a hotel compared to that.”

You open your mouth to argue more, but then he makes an expression that can only be described as sad puppy eyes, even going as far as slightly tilting his head to the side to perfect the impression. You gulp in response, stricken straight through the heart, and knowing pertinently that you could already hardly refuse him anything, so if he begins to gaze at you like that…

“Pretty please?”

Oh no. Not that line.

He's now excessively batting his eyelashes at you, which, while not exactly alluring, is both comical and endearing. Hell, who are you even kidding? You’re so smitten with this blue-eyed creature, is there any act from him you wouldn’t find endearing?

“Are you… pouting?”

“Depends. Is it working?”

You sigh, aware it's a losing battle, and look away, a futile attempt to hide the ridiculously potent effect he has on you, or to at least shield yourself from his influence, if only momentarily.

“I think you know the answer to that.”

“Maybe ah just wantae hear ye say aye tae me.”

Your cheeks catch fire at the suggestiveness of the words. As if the regular rasp of his voice, that felt like an exquisite caress along your spine, wasn’t already making it incredibly difficult to keep your face at a reasonnable temperature.

“You're gonna get me fired, Johnny.”

“Over my dead body,” he retorted with surprising determination, solemnly pressing a hand over his heart.

You scoff indulgently. Coming from anyone else, the hastily taken oath would be preposterous, but Soap has always proved himself trustworthy.

“Let's go. Your knees must be sore,” you mumble, trying to sound casual.

“Wanna make a joke aboot mah stamina when kneeling but ah will keep it fur next time,” he slips as he stands up, way too smugly for your own good, so you pretend you didn’t hear anything. As if you needed any more incitement into picturing him on his knees in a different context.

You get up quickly after, but he does not get out of your way. You rise a quizzical eyebrow, his close proximity triggering alarm bells inside your head. If he remains near enough for you to feel his body heat, you’re going to get dizzy.

He simply grins.

“Want a hug?”

He opens his muscled arms, smile genuine, almost blinding, like a tacit invitation, and all your reluctance seems to evaporate with that simple gesture. Before you can linger any more on the harmful consequences this lack of restraint will eventually cause, you throw yourself into his embrace. It feels like falling and flying all at once.

You blink at the unexpected question. Yes, implores your touchstarved mind. YES, cries out your sensitive, enamored heart.

No way, rebuffs your cautious brain. It will only hurt more knowing what you can’t have.

Your hands close on the back of his shirt, near his shoulder blades, and, pressing your face into his shoulder to make the world disappear for a moment, you cling to him like he could rescue you from the sinking ship that was your sick mind. One of his arms close around your waist while his free hand rubs your back, leaving trails of fire in its wake, but bringing you much-appreciated comfort nonetheless.

“You're too nice to me. I feel like I'm taking advantage of your kindness.”

He remains silent a drawn-out second, and you're terrified you just screwed everything up.

“Yer givin me too much credit, lass “ he finally says. “Ah don't go ‘round base comforting every person I find.”

His tone isn’t angry, per se, but it lacks its previous joviality.

Soap tilts his head back, biting his lips, thanking the universe that with your face laying against his chest, you can’t perceive his embarrassment.

He can’t tell you. Not yet. Not now.

Months ago, he took the resolve to make you smile more; for a while now he started doing his reports more seriously, or even did the ones of Gaz and Ghost, just to have an excuse to see you, to behold the way your face lightens up when he brings you necessary paperwork before you even demand it.

He can’t tell you that he used to consider writing reports as the worst part of the job until you came along; until you awarded him a heartfelt, radiant smile when he gave you his; that he noticed how little you smiled outside of artificial ones you fabricate for work purposes; that when he manages to make you smile or laugh genuinely, it feels like a prize, that only he is privy to.

And he certainly can’t tell you about that one time where he handed over his reports in advance, but you weren't there, so he left, heart heavy with disappointment, dragging his feet, until he heard your voice coming from the room he just left.

“What are those?” you questionned your coworker.

“Soap just dropped them.”

“But… I didn't even ask him to yet?”

Perplexity combines with glee in your voice.

“He's a good boy, isn’t he?” prompted your colleague.

You let out a fond, wistful sigh, before responding, half-joking.

“I know! Such a good boy for me.”

Getting to hear you beaming over his benevolent action was already a treat, but witnessing that compromising exchange? To be called a “good boy” by you short-circuited him. He swore - “Steamin jesus” -, ears burning, face on fire, covering it with one hand. He needed to leave badly. Seek refuge in his room, where he could be free to replay that tantalizing line on loop in his mind. “Such a good boy for me.”

Your heart beats a bit faster than usual as you obediently follow Soap through corridors you’ve never been in before. You trust him with all your heart, but that doesn't change the fact that what you’re doing is against the rules; and those rules aren't high school's, but the ones of a military base.

You flinch hard as a familiar voice screams in your direction.

“SERGEANT MACTAVISH!”

Oops, you think. That's Captain Price, your supervisor, and he sounds pissed. You never witnessed him calling Soap by his last name before, but that being said, you never saw him deal with a kidnapped assistant either.

You've been caught red-handed.

Your mind begins to come up with plans to lessen the punishments that are without doubt about to descend upon you two, but Johnny grabbing your hand brings you back to reality.

You lift your gaze to him. He doesn't seem worried at all, if anything… is that a spark of delight in his eye?

He only pronounces one word.

“Run.”

So you run, carried away half by adrenaline, and half by the sergeant dragging you. Thankfully Soap is aware that there's no way you can keep up with him and his training, so he comes to a halt a minute later.

Panting hard, you double over, hands clenching your knees for support, heart thumping in your chest, blood throbbing in your ears.

“Why… are we… running…!?” you manage to exhale. “It's only… gonna make… things worse…”

By your side, he's standing fresh as a daisy, barely ruffled by your flight. The sight would be infuriating if his eyes weren't glinting with amusement and he wasn’t offering you a dazzling smile.

“Because it's fun,” he affirms like it's evident.

Little by little, you catch your breath, throwing Johnny a look that's half in earnest, half in jest.

“More fun for you than for me.”

He doesn't get flustered by your moderate reprimand.

“Is it selfish o' me tae wantae spend more time wi' ye? Didnae want us tae git interrupted yet.”

The line feels like a punch to the chest, stealing the breath you just recovered and leaving you agape.

He takes your hand again with the natural of a well earned habit.

“C'm'on, ah have more than one trick up mah sleeve.”

You're unsure which of the views unfurling under your eyes is the most magnificent; the sunset in front of you that's painting the sky in shades of pink and orange, or the striking man by your side whose eyes could rival the most astounding sights.

Nibbling on the dinner Soap smuggled out of the cafeteria with too much ease for it to be his first time, you regularly sneak glances at him as he fills the silence with tales of his adventures - the parts that aren't top secret, at least. You two totally did not break onto the roof moments ago, no sir.

Goosebumps travel along your arms and any exposed skin as the night falls and the sun takes away the warmth with him. You furiously brush the outside of your arms for heat, and you're about to suggest finishing this inside, when a jacket lands on your shoulders.

It is still warm with his owner's bodyheat, deliciously so. You curl up and drag it closer, your face on fire. Realizing that Soap gave you his jacket without you even having to ask or complain about the cold… you’re conflicted between obsessing over this like a giggling schoolgirl, and feeling apologetic.

Once you more or less got your blushing under control, you turn to him, displaying a contrite expression.

“I don't want to take your jacket on top of your bed, Johnny.” you pout.

“A'm a bloody furnace. Wanna check?”

He asks, cheekily, even adding a wink for good measure. As if there was any more artifice needed to make you putty in his hands.

He presents you his bare arm for the taking, all golden skin, bulging muscles and a constellation of white scars.

You indulge him and lay a hand on his bicep, knowing he won't relent otherwise; that is definitly the only reason; it has absolutely nothing to do with your own desires.

Indeed, he's burning. As you envy and bask in the heat provided by his body, forgetting that your touch is lingering too long for someone who is just a coworker, he chooses that moment to flex shamelessly, showing off the impressive circumference of his muscle. You feel obligated to squeeze it in response, a way to finally meet him head-on instead of passively enduring his quips, and it feels like reinforced concrete under your fingers.

You fail to hold back your laughter at his facetious demeanor.

“You're ridiculous.”

The comment holds no bite, a smile brimming with tenderness stretching your lips.

“I'll be the most ridiculous man on the planet if it makes you laugh.”

He's leaning back, hands propped on the ground behind him, head slightly tilted to gaze at you, and the earnestness on his face could almost make you believe his words.

Almost.

But instead a sharp pang pierces your chest, right between your lungs, at heart's level. The smile you return him in spite of yourself oscillates between content and heartbroken, before opting for the latter.

Tomorrow you will ask him, maybe even plead; tomorrow you'll ask him to put an end to the flirting. You cannot bear it.

But just tonight, you'll indulge it. You'll pretend to be normal, a well-adjusted human being, instead of a broken shell; you'll act like an adult for who flirting is a regular event and not the mental equivalent of a nuclear bomb.

You abruptly stand up, dusting yourself off, purposely ignoring the newfound lack of understanding on Soap's face and how his mouth opened for a question.

“It's getting late,” you state, not nearly as casually as you'd like. “I'm beat!”

You're running away and you know it; but you never claimed to be brave. Really, it is the best solution for everyone involved, or at least it's how it has always seemed to be your whole life.

He escorts you to his room - of course he does. Even if he already picked up his things earlier to crash on the couch, already showed the place to you.

As you awkwardly face him on the doorstep after saying your goodbyes and your thanks, unable to look away yet incapable of making eye contact, pain flares in your torso thinking of him, somehow intertwined with joy and gratefulness for his existence. Maybe your inner struggle shows on your face because next thing you know, he cups your cheek, forcing you to look up, but as the deranged idea that he's about to kiss you manifests in a remote corner of your mind, your brain swiftly shuts off as his lips make contact with your forehead.

The touch is light yet your entire being seems gathered on that point of contact.

“G'night, bonnie,” he half-whispers, as if to make sure his words exist only for you.

He grants you one last smile, small but so sweet you feel your heart tightens.

“Good night, Johnny,” you manage to articulate before sheltering in his bedroom. The room smells like him.

The moment the door shuts behind you, you rest against it, tilting your head back, letting out a deep sigh. Morbid curiosity pushes you to glance in the adjacent bathroom's mirror, if only to see what you look after this evening. A flustered mess? A sorrowful wreck?

Catching your reflection's eye makes you grimace as you realize an incriminating detail.

You forgot to give Soap his jacket back.

165 notes · View notes

rorywritesjunk · 5 months

Text

No longer locked upon the land but free on the rolling waves

You and Buggy come face to face with himself from the past, and while you're fully accepting that this is your husband as a child, Buggy doesn't want to accept it.

Rating: PG-13ish, but just due to some swearing.

Warning: Upset kid, upset husband. Reader is way too nice, doesn't necessarily take husband's feelings into account as well.

A/N: A combined request. I did a few versions of this story before feeling like it hit the marks I was wanting to hit. Also, I'm just trying to vibe off what I've seen of Kid Buggy. I'm no expert. I'd protect that kid with my life. He's so adorable. I also like the trope of "Meeting your self from another time" and "gets turned back into kid-self". This is the former, and I know shit about time travel but I just kind of made something up. Also, kelpies. Are they in One Piece? I honestly don't know but I love kelpies and needed an excuse to mention them.

Title comes from "Sailing Song" by S.J. Tucker.

Chapter 1 + Chapter 2 + Chapter 3 + Chapter 4 + Chapter 5 + Chapter 6/Epilogue

Chapter One

You would have thought you drank the pub dry the night before and were still drunk with what you were seeing in front of you. Except you very much didn’t drink. You stayed back on the ship, wanting a quiet night while the rest of the crew and captain went to drink the pub dry. You were perfectly sober, no hangover in sight, but you really weren’t sure what you were staring at.

Blue hair, red nose, and a scowl you knew all too well was in front of you, clutching something in his little hands while looking you up and down. “What?!”

“I… don’t know.” Which was true, you didn’t know. The kid in front of you looked every bit like the captain who was currently sleeping back on the ship, having managed to find his way home without falling off the docks and into the water to drown(this time). He never mentioned having a kid, ever, and considering how long you knew the captain and your relationship with him, and guessing the kid’s age, you would have been having a very serious talk about infidelity and why keeping your love child a secret? Seriously? wasn’t good for relationships.

“Why are you staring at me?!” The kid snapped. “Don’t stare at me!”

“Sorry!” You smiled and knelt down in front of him. “You just look so much like someone I know, I was confused. I promise I wasn’t staring.”

The kid was on guard, tense, and looked ready to bolt, but you were curious. He just looked so much like Buggy that he had to be an offspring or some kind of relative, but the scary thing to you was how much he really looked like Buggy; he had kept some photos of his childhood onboard the Oro Jackson, and you knew what he looked like as a kid. He would show them to you on nights when he was drunk and reminiscing about the good ol’ days, singing shanties and drinking heavily. Last night was one of those nights before he passed out asleep in bed.

“What’s your name?” You finally asked. The kid didn’t seem sure about telling you, but he must have felt brave because he straightened up and smirked at you.

“I’m Buggy!” He told you, puffing his chest out proudly. “I’m an apprentice under Captain Roger, y’know, and I’m one of the best already!”

Oh.

Oh shit.

Yea, no, something weird was going on. Why was there a kid who looked like Buggy, had the same name, and was talking about Captain Roger like he was still alive? Was this an elaborate make believe game the kid was playing, or were you staring into the eyes of your husband’s childhood self?

Weirdly enough, the latter made more sense to you. You heard of this happening, stories from sailors and pirates alike, but the stories were overheard at the bar after too much alcohol was consumed. Stories of children appearing for several days on a ship, like ghosts from a distant past, only to disappear again without a trace, but sometimes it happened the other way around, with the storytellers insisting that they met themselves as a child in the past, got to relive some memories, good and bad, before coming home again.

“Yea?” You grinned. “That’s impressive, so where’s your crew? Your ship?”

The smirk vanished and he deflated a bit, looking around with the smallest bit of worry. “I don’t know. I was in front of them and there was some kind of flash of light, and… I don’t know where I am.”

“Oh, well, want me to help you look for them?” You asked, knowing all too well that his crew was nowhere around, he was not where he thought he was, but you didn’t want him getting into any trouble (which you knew was difficult because as an adult he managed to get himself into enough trouble). “If we don’t find them, you can stay with me. I’ll keep you safe.”

“I-I don’t need to be kept safe!” He snapped. “I’m tough, okay? I can take care of myself!”

You made sure not to laugh, but it was hard not too. He was so cute as a kid that saying those things with such passion and intensity just made him even more adorable. Instead, you nodded, agreeing with him as you held your hand out to him to take.

“Well, how about something to eat? I’m just finishing up a supply run for my ship.” You said. “I’m happy to make you something before we find your crew.”

He looked at your hand, looked at you, then back at your hand before hesitantly taking it. Whatever he held in his hand he put in his pocket, making you wonder what he stole before coming here. You decided not to test the waters yet, he was feisty, proud, and if you treated him like a kid then he wouldn’t be very happy. You needed to treat him like the apprentice that he is, proud, determined, and passionate. Once his hand was in yours, you gave it a gentle squeeze and smiled at him as you started walking back to the docks.

“I have fresh apples and peanut butter, if you’d like that as a snack.” You said, eyeing him with a grin as his face lit up. That was the same snack you’d promise the captain whenever you wanted something from him. It wasn’t fancy by any means, just a simple snack, but you kept the peanut butter hidden from him so he never knew where to find it. The way the kid’s face lit up told you all you needed to know that this really was Buggy as a kid.

Oh, it was about to get fun on the ship.

“-and then I stole it!” Buggy exclaimed with a laugh, holding up the pendant for you to see. He had just finished telling you of his latest act of piracy, stealing some necklace from a vendor on the streets. You had fed him, given him something to drink, and you couldn’t help but walk over to him once he finished talking to wipe some of the food off his face with a dish towel. He was caught off guard and made a face at you when you did that.

“Pirates with food on their face scare no one.” You chuckled as you slung the towel over your shoulder before clearing the dishes in front of him. “And then what happened, Buggy?”

He fell silent, brow furrowed as he thought of your question. What did happen? He took off running, met up with the crew, and then a flash of light and he bumped into you-

“Buggy?” You tapped on the table in front of him, bringing him out of his thoughts. “You okay, sweetie?”

“Yea, yea.” He mumbled as he looked down at the pendant in his hand. “Next thing that happened was I ran into you.”

He quite literally did. You had just stepped out of a shop when he walked right into you, and you had been in shock of seeing him that you weren't bothered that a kid was yelling at you about being in the way.

“Oh!” You nodded and went to refill his glass. “Well, you can stay with me until we find your crew, okay?”

“Are you a pirate?” He asked. “I'm on a pirate ship, but you don't seem like a pirate.”

You laughed softly at that, shaking your head. “I'm not, no. I don't do piracy, just help with the upkeep of the ship. My husband, however, is a pirate.”

“What?!”

“Yea, he-”

“It's too loud in here.” Someone grumbled from the doorway. You both turned to look; the kid’s eyes widened and you grinned. And there he was, groggy, a little hungover, and obviously needing food and coffee if he was going to start the day. You went over to him and led him to the table, helping him sit down before you started on the coffee. “Time?”

“Lunch time.” You chuckled. “That's what time it is, honey.”

He glared at you, oblivious to the guest that was staring at him with wide eyes and an open mouth. Buggy was a little hungover, having had his fair share of alcohol the night before. Normally you had the coffee ready for him before he woke up, so he was confused and unhappy that it wasn't readily available for him at that moment.

“It's too early.” He grumbled, rubbing his eyes. “What's for lunch?”

“Wake up first.” You brought him a cup and kissed the top of his head. “But I need you to look across the table before you drink that coffee, honey.”

Buggy looked up at you, eyes squinting in confusion. You took hold of his head and turned it in the direction you wanted him to look, and a few seconds later he pushed back from the table while you still held his head. Swearing, you popped it back onto his neck.

“W-What is going on?” He shrieked upon seeing the kid. Thankfully Kid Buggy remained seated, but you could see the confused look on his face. The two were staring at each other, mirror images except for the age difference. Before you could explain, your husband got up, marched over to the kid, and picked him up by the back of the shirt, carrying him out of the kitchen.

“Buggy-” You went after him, not sure what was happening.

“Hey! Put me down!” The kid shrieked, fists swinging and legs kicking.

Buggy didn't respond and before you could stop him, he tossed the kid over the side of the ship and into the water. You couldn't believe he did that. You rushed to the side to look over, relieved you saw the kid treading water. So this was definitely a young Buggy, pre-Devil Fruit, otherwise you would have thrown your husband overboard after the kid. You threw a rope down to him while your husband went back to the kitchen, rambling on about curses and bad omens.

You wanted to know what the hell that was about.

“I’m fine!” The kid insisted as you wrapped his hair up in a towel. His clothes were soaked and you did not have anything that would fit him, so he was currently wearing an old shirt of Buggy’s until his clothes dried. They were draped over a chair in the bedroom, the pendant he stole earlier sitting on your shared dressing table.

“I don’t need you getting sick, sweetie.” You sighed as you used another towel to make sure his face was clean. You were mindful of the nose, touching the towel to his face except there. “I’m sorry he did that.”

“Why did he do that?” He grumbled as he crossed his arms, glaring up at you.

“Because pirates are superstitious fools.” You told him. “And… seeing you scared him I guess. I don’t know, I’m going to talk to him.” Carefully, you unwrapped his hair, making note that he needed to have it brushed to keep from tangling too much. You got up and set the towels aside before grabbing your hairbrush. “Buggy, I’m going to tell you something and I don’t want you to get scared, okay?”

“I don’t get scared!” He insisted. “Not like that guy! I’m braver than him!”

“Okay, here’s the thing about my husband-”

“Don’t tell him anything!” Your husband suddenly appeared in the doorway, glaring at the two of you. “Where did you find him? Who is he?!”

You weren’t bothered by his mood, but you wanted to make sure the kid felt safe. Without a word you moved between the two, keeping Kid Buggy behind you as you crossed your arms.

“We ran into each other, Buggy.” You told him firmly. “He got separated from his crew.”

“Crew?!” Buggy shook his head. “No, get him off this ship. He could be… a kelpie or something. Get him out of here!”

“He’s not a kelpie.” You sighed.

“You don’t know that!”

Rolling your eyes you looked down at the kid. He had grabbed hold of your pant leg, gripping it tightly as he stared at the man in the doorway. This was a lot for both of them but you needed the captain to calm down. You knelt down and touched the kid’s bare toes. He took a step back and gave you a weird look.

“Human toes, no hooves.” You pointed out. “He also mentioned the Oro Jackson and being an apprentice…” You looked back at your husband. He paled and shook his head. This was too much. This was not him, this had to be some form of trickery, or a shapeshifter. “Besides, I’ve spent enough time with my husband to know when I’m with him as a child.”

Kid Buggy’s eyes widened, looking between you and Adult Buggy. Child? Was… this supposed to be him in the future? As an adult? His jaw dropped, he couldn’t believe it. You smiled at the expression on his face, pleased the kid was in awe of this.

“I turn out to be a drunk loser?!” The kid shrieked. “Why?!”

Okay, that was not what you expected. You slapped your hand to your face while your husband looked ready to throw the kid overboard once again. Kid Buggy just shook his head, not believing this. Was this an alternate reality of some kind? He wouldn’t be like this. Was this guy even a pirate? He didn’t seem like it from the little bit the kid had seen already. He was not impressed in the slightest.

“I want him gone.” Buggy snapped. “No kelpie or bad omen crap is allowed on this ship!”

He stormed off after that.

#buggy the clown #sunny x buggy #buggy the clown x reader #buggy x reader #buggy x you #buggy the clown x you #opla buggy the clown x reader #opla buggy x reader #opla buggy the clown x you #opla buggy x you #one piece #one piece oc #one piece fanfiction

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imaginedisish · 1 year

Text

Home (Din Djarin x fem!Reader)

A/N: Hey everybody! Here is a new Din Djarin fic! I don’t know if I’ve done this trope already...there’s a good chance I did. I had a version of this fic in my WIPs for a while, and I don’t think it ever made it out of the doc, so here it is. I hope you guys like it! It’s heavily based on “Home” by LCD Soundsystem.

Summary: Din learns the truth about your past...

Warnings: SMUT, 18+ fingering, unprotected PIV (wrap it up), praise kink for sure, hurt to comfort, friends/idiots to lovers, Jedi!reader (implied conflict/is training Grogu), implied kidnapping (Inquisitors kidnap reader as child), cursing, Crest still exists because I’m lazy, probably grammar mistakes because again, I’m lazy.

Word Count: 3,661

Your lungs burn painfully as you sprint through the forest, dodging trees, maneuvering through the thicket. You swear Grogu is giggling in his little carrier strapped carefully onto your chest. “This is not funny, little guy,” You mumble in between breaths. Grogu babbles and giggles some more in response.

This was not how this training session with Grogu was supposed to go.

BANG! You flinch a bit to the left as a blaster shot whirls by, smashing violently into a tree, leaving a burning gaping hole in its wake. You make a sharp turn to avoid the tree as it crashes down in front of you. The dark troopers were closing in on you and Grogu; you could feel it. It was only a matter of time until they circled around you, blasters pressing at your back.

Another. BANG! The tree to your right comes crashing down a few feet away. You turn around for just a split second, searching for Din, for something, for a way out. They were gaining on you, you could see them coming from over the hill.

You press a button on your comlink. “Hey Mando?” You practically shout into it. “Things are getting a little messy over here.” Your words are panicked, jumbled.

“I’m almost there,” He reassures. “What’s going on?”

“Well, they’re-,” BANG! That answers his question.

“Just hold on, okay?” You can hear the fear in his voice; it wasn’t something you were used to. Din was normally confident, but this time there was a sense of insecurity, as if this time was going to end differently than all the others. As if he was afraid you weren’t going to make it.

You take a deep breath and navigate away from the now burning, fallen over trees. You turn around; the troopers were even closer than they were before. You swear there weren’t this many a few minutes ago. You turn to the left, trying to find another way out, but it’s too late. You were surrounded. You weren’t fast enough. Maybe this was the end.

“I am not getting killed by a bunch of droids,” You huff, raising your hands above your head. But the troopers don’t stop, they continue to creep closer towards you and Grogu, raising their blasters, readying to shoot, aiming to kill. “We are not going down like this kid,” You whisper, Grogu’s ears picking up as the words slip from your tongue.

The troopers finally stop, their metal joints freezing in place. Their blasters are still pointed towards you and Grogu. You swallow harshly, staring at your reflection in the metallic armor of the dark trooper directly in front of you. You watch closely as their robotic fingers hover over the trigger. You had one shot, one chance to get this right. You shut your eyes, waiting for it.

All at once. CLICK. BANG.

Your hands extend out. You can feel the energy pulsing through you. It’s controlled and stable. You slowly open your eyes, and hovering in the air are at least twenty violently shivering blaster rays, threatening to finish the job if you let go. You can feel the rays dancing under your fingertips, struggling against your grasp. You shut your eyes again, the tension of each one growing. You couldn’t hold this forever.

A new feeling abruptly shocks your system. It’s a certain power you haven’t felt in years. It rattles your bones, sending shockwaves throughout every inch of your body. There’s something delicious about it, tempting even. It’s powerful, yet intrusive, quickly invading your senses and taking over. You allow it to course through you fully. You can almost hear something calling out to you. Let go.

And so you do.

With a swift motion, you release the energy building up inside of you. It’s a radical feeling, but still somehow familiar. The shocks flow through the palms of your hands and out of your fingers. There’s a slight sting. It’s almost painful. And that’s when you remember exactly what this feeling is. Your eyes open wide, and you watch as electricity, and the blaster rays, shoot out towards the dark troopers, decimating them immediately.

Fire consumes the trees around you, embers quickly filling the air. You’re not sure if the electricity you just shot out of your hands caused this, or the blaster shots, or the dark troopers themselves. Most likely, it was some sort of messy combination of all three, which meant that you were in part to blame.

“Cyare?”

And Din saw the whole thing.

He’s standing just a few feet away from you. You can see the flames and carnage reflecting against his armor, and in the center of it all is you. This wasn’t a side of yourself that you wanted him to see, or even know about in the first place.

But it was too late for that now. “Din, I can expl-,”

He cuts you off, curt, emotionless. “We need to go.” You nod, taking slow strides towards the ramp of the Crest. You pass Din along the way. You want him to say something, to look at you, to move at the very least. But he doesn’t. He’s motionless, frozen in the aftermath of what you had done, of the secret you had tried so very hard to cover up.

You reluctantly step into the Crest, taking Grogu and his carrier off your shoulders, placing him in his crib. You throw the carrier to the ground. He gurgles something entirely unintelligible. There’s a tiredness in his grumblings. Good, you think to yourself. At least he’ll be asleep when you and Din have it out.

Din’s steps echo against the walls of the Crest. You know he’s disappointed. You can feel it. You should’ve told him the truth, told him who you were, told him that person isn’t who you are anymore. It’s certainly not the person you are with him. Din makes your past seem like some non-existent, intangible, fictional far-off tale. It was like he made you forget. No. He changed you, altered your brain chemistry, made you feel like you mattered. And not because he had to, but because he wanted to.

You needed him, and it scared you. You were almost afraid of the connection, of the dependency.

But he needs you too, you just don’t know it yet.

You wait a minute, trembling a bit in the hull, watching as Grogu’s eyes struggle to stay open. Within a few seconds, they’re closed. Din’s figure finally appears in the doorway. He’s apprehensive, tentative, as if he hasn’t made up his mind about coming inside. Your stomach knots, twinging as he finally steps all the way inside, pressing a button as the ramp shuts behind him.

He looks over at Grogu, fast asleep in his crib. A modulated breath escapes from under his helmet. It’s a sigh of defeat, of dejection. You build up the courage to stare into his visor, half expecting to get an indication of how he’s feeling. But there’s nothing, no sign of life save the shallow breaths slipping through his vocoder.

“Din, just let me explain.” It’s a plea, a solicitation for forgiveness.

But he isn’t buying it. “Did you lie to me?” There’s no anger in his voice, no agitation, not even an ounce of annoyance. It’s hurt, pain, possibly even betrayal, and that feels far worse than any vexation or outrage ever could. “Last time I checked, Jedi don’t use the force like that.”

You swallow the lump in your throat, your eyes breaking away from his glare. You know he’s staring at you under his helmet, searching for answers, trying to convince himself that what had just happened was a figment of his imagination. But it wasn’t. It was you. The past had caught up with your present, and now they’d fight for control.

“No, they don’t,” You pause, breathing deeply before continuing. “The Inquisitors kidnapped me when I was a kid. I was saved just a few months after the first Death Star was destroyed.” There’s a moment of relief before the fear of waiting for his response kicks in. You had told him the truth, and he wasn’t running away. Din was still in front of you, listening to every word you had to say.

He takes a few steps toward you, slowly closing the distance between you and him. “You could’ve told me that,” He whispers. “You should’ve told me.” He’s more assertive the second time around.

“I didn’t want you to think that I-I was still like that.” You can feel tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, begging to be blinked away. “I d-didn’t want you to t-think I was some monster.”

“What are you talking about?” He finds himself being drawn even closer towards you, his gloved hands gravitating to yours, his fingertips brushing against your wrists as he presses his palms into your own. Home. The word flashes in your mind in big bright lights, your hands fitting perfectly into his. “How could you think I’d ever see you like that?”

“I could tell you were scared, when you saw what I did…” You trail off, your heart beating wildly out of your chest. “Maybe I shouldn’t be training the kid. Maybe I’m not…” Din shakes his head. “Not what?”

“Not good enough,” You mumble, fighting back sobs. “If I can’t let go of my past, let go of those feelings…”

“No.” There’s no hesitance in his statement, no question, no consideration. Din means it. “Don’t think like that, mesh’la. You’re more than enough, more than the kid and I could’ve ever asked for.”

“But I-,”

He cuts you off again. “You protected Grogu. You protected me.”

“I lied to you, Din,” Your voice is soft, quiet, timid. “I did something I’d promise myself I’d never do again.” You blink a few times, letting the inevitable tears stream down your cheeks.

Din squeezes your hands lightly and lets go. Before you can internally grieve the loss of contact, he pulls you into his chest, his arms wrapping around you. He had never been so gentle with you, so kind, so soft. This was so unlike him.

You sob into his beskar covered chest. The cold metal feels good against your burning cheeks. “I-I’m sorry.” You croak out, your voice reverberating through his armor.

“It’s alright,” He mutters, the top of his helmet coming down to rest on your head. “I’ve got you, it’s gonna be okay.” You sniffle as he whispers sweet reassurances in your ears, reminding you that you’re good enough, that he’s right next to you, that nothing bad is going to happen. “You should get some rest.”

You nod, and Din pulls you from his chest, stepping away from you and into the cockpit. You wish he was still next to you, his body pressed against yours. The closer you get to Din, the more dangerous things become. Luke and Ahsoka had told you the dangers of maintaining connections, building relationships. Ahsoka had been more forgiving, given that she believed in a more balanced way than the Jedi did. But Luke…Luke had been warning you for years.

Honestly, you didn’t care anymore. You wanted to forget Luke’s grating voice, to dispel each ideal he forced into your head. You wanted Din, needed Din. He was all that mattered now.

Forget your past This is your last chance now And we can break the rules Like nothing will last

Luke’s warnings fade away as you search through your clothes for something more comfortable to wear. Naturally, there’s nothing clean, nothing that Grogu hadn’t spit up on.

There’s one shirt of Din’s that you had borrowed a few nights ago when he was out on a hunt by himself. It still smells like him, feels like him too. You like how you look in it, the way it hangs too long on you. You like that it’s his and not yours. You slip it on and walk out into the hull and towards the cockpit as the Crest takes off.

You can’t see it, but his eyes settle on your reflection in the viewport. He turns around to get a better look. His shirt is massive on you, falling just above your knees. He hadn’t expected to see you in his clothes, but fuck did you look good. He couldn’t hold back anymore, not after today, not after you had sobbed in his arms.

He needed to remind you of who you are. He needed to tell you what you meant to him. Maker, he needed you to know everything, how he wants every inch of you, how much he cares about you, how much he loves you.

You can tell he’s looking at you now. You’re suddenly incredibly self-conscious. “I-I’m sorry,” You stutter. “I took i-it the other day without asking…should’ve told you I had it.”

He clutches his fists as the Crest comes out of the planet’s atmosphere. He presses a button, putting the ship on autopilot. “You need to stop apologizing,” He says, pushing his palms into the arms of the pilot’s chair and standing up.

You tilt your head to the side, confused and somehow even more apologetic than you were before. “I-I didn’t mean to offend you-,” “You’re not offending me, you never could.” He closes the gap between the two of you with one small step. “So stop saying sorry.” There’s an urgency in his voice, and an undeniable sense of certainty, like he had thought hard about what he was going to say, as if he had wanted to say this for an incredibly long time.

“Sorr-,” You cut yourself off, a smirk spreading across your face.

Din’s hands hover over your waist, softly settling down, waiting for you to protest. But you don’t. “Is this alright?” He asks.

“Y-yes,” You stutter. Din’s grip becomes firm against your hips. You hum at the contact, slowly pushing your body closer to his until your chests are flush against one another’s.

The tension is palpable. This is no longer him simply trying to comfort you; this is much, much more than that.

He makes the first move, taking a step in between your spread-out legs so that your back presses into the wall behind you. You can feel a pulse of heat shoot down to your core. “You need to know what you mean to me,” He whispers, his knee pressing lightly into your clothed cunt. You hold yourself back from grinding against him. “Need to show you how I feel about you, how you make me feel…” He trails off, letting himself get lost in the moment

Your hands snake up to the base of his neck, where his flight suit and his helmet meet. Your fingers slip under the fabric, exploring the exposed skin there. You’ve always wanted to feel him, to let him feel you. But this was never the deal, this was never something you expected. These were uncharted waters, a feeling that was so far shoved to the back of your head that you were positive this would never happen.

But this is happening.

He tugs the shirt up so that his hands can slip underneath. “Take off your gloves.” Your voice is breathy as the plea slips out. “Wanna feel you.” Din nods, quickly pulling them off before gluing his palms back to your skin. His calloused fingertips graze over your stomach, sending chills down your spine. “Din,” You whisper as he trails towards your bra, dipping underneath. His thumb brushes over your peaked nipple. You shut your eyes, letting your head fall back against the wall.

“What is it, pretty girl?” He asks, teasing you, his fingers pinching your nipple lightly. “Tell me what you want, need to hear you.”

He was going to be the death of you. “I-I want you to f-fuck me,” You beg, shamelessly grinding against his knee, searching for some sort of relief. You can feel your wetness pooling in between your legs. “N-need you to touch me Din, please.”

Din nods, his hands slipping out from under your shirt and down to the waistline of your panties. He drops to his knees as he slips them down your legs, practically tearing them off of you in the process. His fingers glide up your inner thigh as he stands. His palm finally settles against your cunt, the heel of his hand pushing into your clit, his fingers teasing at your opening.

“Fuck, you’re so wet, such a good girl,” He praises, moving a bit so that his fingers find their way to your clit. You moan out at the sudden pressure. “You like that? Like my fingers there?”

You hum a yes, unable to pull any sort of coherent thought together as Din’s fingers swirl around your clit. “N-need more,” You mumble. “W-wanna feel you, please.” You can feel his erection against your leg, throbbing in his flight suit. But Din doesn’t stop, his fingers continue their unrelenting circles at your core.

He moves his hand ever so slightly, shifting the angle so that his thumb brushes against your clit, and his fingers begin to tease your folds. Your head falls against his shoulder at the feeling. His fingers suddenly thrust into you, pumping in and out.

“You’re so perfect,” His honeyed, modulated voice rasps. He watches as your chest heaves against his shirt, your back limp against the wall of his ship, your head pressed against his shoulder. Fuck you looked so good like this, taking him, letting him make you his. And Maker, you felt good doing it. Nothing would ever compare to this, to the feeling of having him this close to you. “Doing so good for me.”

“Din,” You whimper. “I-I’m so close.”

He smirks under his helmet. He was going to make you come on his fingers. You clench around him, his fingers hitting the spot you need him in most every time. “That’s it sweet girl, just like that,” Din whispers, his thumb mercilessly toying with your core. You can feel yourself coming undone around him, like a wire snapping in two, heat spreading fervently across every inch of your body.

“D-Din,” You stutter, pulling him against you, his fingers still buried inside you, his thumb still drawing gentle circles. You needed more, you needed him closer than humanly possible. You bring a hand down to his erection, jerking him off through his pants. “N-need you inside me, Din.”

He doesn’t waste any time undoing his belt, shoving his pants off. He’s so fast you’re not even sure any of it happened in the first place. He lines himself up with your entrance. “Are you sure you want this?” He asks.

There’s no question. “I’ve always wanted this, Din, always wanted you.”

He rests his forehead against yours. “…‘always wanted you too, mesh’la.” You gasp as he buries himself inside of you with one thrust, splitting you open. “So fucking tight, so perfect,” He praises you again, your eyes rolling to the back of your head at his words. He gives you a minute to adjust to him before pulling out and shoving himself back in. You’ve never felt so full, so whole, like he’s tearing you apart just to put you back together.

“Feels s’good,” You murmur as Din sets his pace. It starts slow, his hips rolling against yours with each thrust. He’s taking his time, exploring every inch of you. His thumb finds your clit again. The sensation is almost overwhelming. You’re already on the borderline of being fucked out.

You can feel your core pulsing as he works at you, toying with you. His thrusts become quicker, needier. “So perfect for me,” He soothes, his hand coming up to cradle your cheek, brushing away a tear you didn’t know had escaped your eye. “Taking me so well, wanted to do this for so long.”

You were already practically there. Every pump, every praise, every swirl pushes you closer to the edge, threatening to throw you over, to split you in two, and Maker, you wanted it.

“Din I-I-,” You can’t even get the words out.

“I know, pretty girl, I’ve got you,” He coos, fucking you into the wall, his thumb still beating away at your heat, his other hand still holding your cheek. Your legs are hooked around his waist, your fingers digging into the beskar that dawns his shoulders.

Your walls flutter around him, and you can feel yourself falling apart around his cock. Searing white heat floods your vision. You can feel a few cool tears against your hot cheeks. You look into his visor as you come. You want him to see you, to know how he makes you feel. “F-fuck, Din, I-I love you.” The confession doesn’t bother you as it slips out. It’s natural, like you had said it countless times before.

And you’ll say it countless times after.

It’s what sends Din over the edge. “S-shit,” His voice is shaky, breathy, broken, his cock twitching inside of you. You can feel him fill you up, pumping in and out a few more times before stopping, still buried deep inside you. His forehead rests on yours, your body limp against his. “I love you,” He confesses back. “So fucking much.” You shut your eyes, letting yourself melt around him. “Can we stay like this, for just a little while? Don’t wanna leave you yet.” You hum a soft yes in response. You didn’t want him to go anywhere either.

His arms wrap around you, pulling you in, keeping you held against his chest. There it is, that same feeling from before, the one you felt the very second you joined this little clan of three.

Home.

If you're afraid of what you need If you're afraid of what you need Look around you, you're surrounded It won't get any better

And so, goodnight

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mostlysignssomeportents · 12 days

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Rebecca Roque’s “Till Human Voices Wake Us”

I'm touring my new, nationally bestselling novel The Bezzle! Catch me in TOMORROW (Apr 17) in CHICAGO, then Torino (Apr 21) Marin County (Apr 27), Winnipeg (May 2), Calgary (May 3), Vancouver (May 4), and beyond!

"Till Human Voices Wake Us" is Rebecca Roque's debut novel: it's a superb teen thriller, intricately plotted and brilliantly executed, packed with imaginative technological turns that amp up the tension and suspense:

https://www.blackstonepublishing.com/till-human-voices-wake-us-gn3a.html#541=2790108

Modern technology presents a serious problem for a thriller writer. Once characters can call or text one another, a whole portfolio of suspense-building gimmicks – like the high-speed race across town – just stop working. For years, thriller writers contrived implausible – but narratively convenient – ways to go on using these tropes. Think of the shopworn "damn, my phone is out of battery/range just when I need it the most":

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XIZVcRccCx0

When that fails, often writers just lean into the "idiot plot" – a plot that only works because the characters are acting like idiots:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Idiot_plot

But even as technology was sawing a hole in the suspense writer's bag of tricks, shrewd suspense writers were cooking up a whole new menu of clever ways to build suspense in ways that turn on the limitations and capabilities of technology. One pioneer of this was Iain M Banks (RIP), whose 2003 novel Dead Air was jammed with wildly ingenious ways to use cellphones to raise the stakes and heighten the tension:

https://web.archive.org/web/20030302073539/http://www.wired.com/wired/archive/11.03/play.html?pg=8

This is "techno-realism" at its best. It's my favorite mode of storytelling, the thing I lean into with my Little Brother and Martin Hench books – stories that treat the things that technology can and can't do as features, not bugs. Rather than having the hacker "crack the mainframe's cryptography in 20 minutes when everyone swears it can't be done in less than 25," the techno-realist introduces something gnarlier, like a supply-chain attack that inserts a back-door, or a hardware keylogger, or a Remote Access Trojan.

Back to Roque's debut novel: it's a teen murder mystery told in the most technorealist way. Cia's best friend Alice has been trying to find her missing boyfriend for months, and in her investigation, she's discovered their small town's dark secret – a string of disappearances, deaths and fires that are the hidden backdrop to the town's out-of-control addiction problem.

Alice has something to tell Cia, something about the fire that orphaned her and cost her one leg when she was only five years old, but Cia refuses to hear it. Instead, they have a blazing fight, and part ways. It's the last time Cia and Alice ever see each other: that night, Alice kills herself.

Or does she? Cia is convinced that Alice has been murdered, and that her murder is connected to the drug- and death-epidemic that's ravaging their town. As Cia and her friends seek to discover the town's secret – and the identity of Alice's killer – we're dragged into an intense, gripping murder mystery/conspiracy story that is full of surprises and reversals, each more fiendishly clever than the last.

But as good as the storytelling, the characterization and the mystery are, Roque's clever technological gambits are even better. This book is a master-class in how a murder mystery can work in the age of social media and ubiquitous mobile devices. It's the first volume in a trilogy and it ends on a hell of a cliff-hanger, too.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/16/dead-air/#technorealism

#pluralistic #books #reviews #novels #mysteries #thrillers #technorealism #gift guide #rebecca roque

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flightfoot · 2 months

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Marinette Completed Angst Fic Reclist

I know some people really like this genre, so I figured I'd make a list for it! These will obviously all be completed, and none of them will be bashing fics, and PLEASE don't rec any fics on this post that are bashing fics, I don't want to see them.

Some of these will have my own commentary about the fic attached to it, for if I've put them on a previous reclist where I had that commentary written out. But a lot of the older fics won't.

For a fic to count for this, the angst Marinette goes through can't just be her being upset about what someone else is going through, though the angst of the fic doesn't only need to be hers, so long as she has her own angst which is a decently prominent part of the fic.

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one does not love breathing by @wackus-bonkus-maximus

All of Paris watched as Hawkmoth murdered Chat Noir, taking the Black Cat Miraculous for himself. Ladybug swears revenge, but her enemy—and every miraculous in his possession—disappear without a trace.

Six years later, a new team of villains launches an attack for the last remaining Miraculous: Volpina, armed with new powers; Queen Bee, with questionable loyalty; Argos, the new holder of the Peacock Miraculous; and Cat Walker, who Ladybug hates the most.

Takes place after S4 - Strike Back.

This is a simply phenomenal fic. You get to explore a lot of different perspectives, like Felix, Kagami, Marinette, and Adrien’s, just to name a few, and see their different thought processes and plans and priorities, and how it can cause their plans to collide with each other, even when they all ultimately are aiming for a good outcome for everyone. The characters are pretty complex and can mess up at times, even when they’re doing things (or not doing things, looking at you Luka) with the best of intentions. It was a joy to read and a real nail-biter the whole time, I actually wrote a fic for it halfway through just to resolve some of the tension for myself, One Does Not Love Shadows.

It also features the version of Luka I’ve connected best with to date, as he feels like Luka, but also is a lot more fleshed out, and can make some major errors while simply trying to avoid missteps. It’s helped me get a better handle on a character who I’ve generally had a lot of problems with really understanding.

It is an M-rated fic, though I think Wackus is being overly cautious on that front. There’s no sexual content and I wouldn’t put the violence or gore above a T-rating, so I wouldn’t let the rating scare you off.

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you don’t even know me at all (but I was made for loving you) by @ladyofthenoodle

They didn’t remember each other. The hospital told them there’d been an accident—brain damage—but Alya had told them the truth, later. Who’d they’d been to each other. What they’d given up, and why. But even with their memories of each other gone, Adrien and Marinette are still inextricably tied together—by law, by their social circles, and by their hearts. And in the apartment they share, there’s only one bed.

Yep, it’s the “there was only one bed” trope XD! I especially love how it was used here, how Adrien and Marinette are strangers now but they had a whole life together, and they pine for each other even without remembering, and how Marinette just can’t believe how in love with her Adrien is even though he doesn’t remember her. I loved the emotional turmoil the two of them went through together in the fic, and the resolution, it’s great!

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fine line by @bbutterflies

“Catwalker?” Loveybug asks. “Hmm?” “Do you remember… what happened before us?” “What do you mean?” “Before we were heroes. Was there someone else?” Catwalker goes quiet for a moment. “I don’t know,” he finally says.

This is a surprisingly angsty take on the Loveybug AU. Here, since the Loveybug and Cat Walker transformations are so unnatural, they’re having negative side effects on Marinette and Adrien, causing them to be constantly exhausted and even to get amnesia the longer they continue using them.

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do you think I have forgotten about you? by @roseinaugust

Based on the song ‘About You’ by The 1975. Memory Loss. Told in alternating time lines, one leading up to and one dealing with the aftermath of Marinette relinquishing the Miracle Box and the guardianship. Marinette struggles with her life after losing her memory, though there is a persistent voice that calls to her that always seems just out of reach in her memory.

Beautiful memory loss fic here, with seeing Ladybug’s and Chat Noir’s relationship before she gave up the Miracle box, juxtaposed with the present day, when Adrien is only a stranger to her. I could really feel how Marinette was struggling with navigating these new circumstances, with her friends seeming to expect her to remember, to be who she was to them, to Adrien especially, before, and her just… not knowing whether she can do that. It’s got a happy ending though, for those who are concerned about that.

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Our Tales Are Endless (That’s Why I Tell Them) by @joonapeach

Marinette lives a simple life - one surrounded by pretty dresses, fresh macaroons, and the calming view of Paris. It’s a life she thinks she has always fit in. And yet sometimes, when a certain boy comes by her shop with a flower and a new adventurous story, she can’t help but wonder if there’s something else she’s missing.

This was a truly gorgeous story. It’s the classic “Marinette gives up the Miracle Box and loses her memories” storyline, exploring her life two years later. Even though she’s had time to heal and recover, she still feels like she’s missing something, something big. At least Adrien’s stopping by regularly to tell her stories about Ladybug and Chat Noir, even if she doesn’t understand why they resonate with her so well.

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I (Wish I) Knew You by @buggachat

University has been hard on Marinette. Making new friends and maintaining her grades is a lot easier said than done when she has to disappear at odd times to fight akumas. She's struggling, and with Alya away with family and Adrien painfully out of reach, she's never felt lonelier.

If only she could talk to someone who really understood her struggles... but it's not like Chat Noir would know anything about loneliness. Right?

Nice aged-up Ladynoir fic here! Marinette’s struggling with losing friends and lovers because of her flakiness due to her superhero activities, until at last she breaks down. Thankfully, Chat Noir’s there at least - and it soon turns out he’s got problems of his own that he’s been hiding.

There’s some fluff and angst, it’s mostly just the two of them navigating life, dealing with their feelings and talking things out.

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If I Let Myself Love You by @uptoolateart

It’s hard to be a normal girl with a normal life when your mother has terminal cancer. And when fashion model Adrien Agreste moves back to Paris and wants to be Marinette’s friend – or maybe even more – her life is turned upside down again.

How can she risk opening her heart to love when her whole world is falling apart? Especially when Adrien is hiding a dark secret of his own….

- COMPLETE FIC – updates on Sundays

*** No kwamis AU - 100% Adrinette. About half of it is fluffy and half heavy. Please read tags for trigger warnings. ***

This fic can be rough, definitely pay attention to the tags. There’s no villains in this story, it mostly centers around themes of dealing with illness - both being sick and having a loved one who’s terminally ill - and death, grieving someone who’s lost, and how difficult that can be. It can get pretty gut-wrenching at times, especially as you slowly discover more layers of what’s really going on, what both Adrien and Marinette are hiding, both from others and from themselves in order to help cope with their circumstances. But they still move forwards together, regardless.

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Between the Heavens and the Embers by @readersmoon

Everyone in Paris remembers the fateful night of January 16, when the city was attacked by the most powerful and destructive akuma ever created. The assault, which lasted for hours, resulted in the death of 439 people.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng was among the casualties.

Years later, Adrien hasn't been able to move on, haunted by the memories of her broken body. So, when the opportunity to leave Paris for a while presents itself, he doesn't hesitate. But this trip might end up giving him more than he ever dreamt of.

This is a fantastic fic, though a serious and a dark one - make sure to mind the tags, and it’s M-rated for a reason. Vee - or rather, Marinette - is going through a horror story here. Imagine finding out that your life is a lie, that everyone you thought you could trust was manipulating you, that you were just being continually gaslit for years.

As for Adrien, Alya, and Nino... well, none of them took Marinette’s “death” all that well, especially Adrien. Finding out that she’s been alive all this time, in these horrible circumstances, and they had no clue... it’s hard on them as well.

I love how this fic goes into how much trauma everyone has even after the immediate danger’s dealt with, you don’t just walk off this kind of experience, especially with how many years this lasted.

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in case you don’t know me tomorrow by @thelibraryloser:

“We live in a crazy world where pieces of our lives can be erased like they never even happened. I just wanted to memorize this moment so… so I could keep it, if that makes sense.”

Adrien’s heart gave a little flutter. She wanted to keep this moment, meeting him. She wanted to keep… him.

“I understand exactly what you mean.“

In a world that has created a way to selectively delete memories, no moment is truly safe. So how do you hold on to something when the memory of it is gone? And how do you keep fighting for someone when you’re the only one who remembers?

This is a SEVERELY underrated fic. It’s got some shades of “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind” in the world, though the plot is very different - the memory erasure ain’t willing.

Basically, the first few chapters are establishing Adrien’s and Marinette’s romance, and then the rest of the fic is dealing with Gabriel being an absolute DICK and using any means at his disposal to break them apart. It’s fantastic and I highly recommend reading it!

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hella enchanted by @xiueryn:

Years ago, Marinette’s father died and she was left with her awful stepmother. With magic forcing her to obey every command, she lived as a servant and gave up hope. When a man appears, searching for the very fairy that blessed her, Marinette decides to give life one more try. AU.

(a different ella enchanted au.)

Even though it’s a one-shot this one is pretty long, clocking in at over 30k words. Absolutely worth a shot, though. The first third is basically Marinette dealing with being pushed around because of her “blessing”, and the other two-thirds is just some adorable fluff of her and Adrien touring the country together.

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Echoes of You by kittinoir

In the day time, she's Marinette - a normal girl, with a normal life. A normal girl, with a normal life. A normal girl, with... Not Season 4 Compliant; please, no spoilers

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balancing act by fictionalinfinity

“Besides, being Ladybug always came first. It came before school, friends, and sometimes even family. Now it had to come before her health. Marinette had a duty to Paris. She wouldn’t let them down.” Or, being both Ladybug and the Guardian starts to take its toll on Marinette. - the epilepsy au literally no one asked for

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Some Days by @merrygreenie

Some days are worse, and others are a little better, little by little and day by day. Marinette Dupain-Chen is learning how to live her new normal after living in confinement and being tortured by Hawkmoth. She is thankful to have her friends and family to support her. And a very special Chat who loves her very much. *This story contains scenes of violence and torture this is a whump fic*

This fic has some great angst, but be warned, it's not kidding about the violence and torture. Honestly, it should probably be rated M instead of Teen, given that while the fic mostly takes place after Marinette escapes and while she's recovering, we do get a detailed flashback to her torture.

#miraculous ladybug #ml fanfic rec #marinette dupain cheng #angst

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gummydummy19 · 7 months

Note

Hi Gummy😌❤️

since we're talking about kinktober...

How about Sherlock(Henry version) and semi-public sex (or something like voyeurism?)

I'm imagining Sherlock and reader (friends or lovers) are on a case when they are close to being discovered their true identities when Sherlock suggested that they could "make love" to fool the guards in (let's say) this brothel.

they could be faking it (till the vibe becomes too strong) or they are truly in love so they went at it anyway😋

Feel free to change or add to my lil thot😌❤️

OH GOODIE!! I love getting requests and I love love LOVE this idea!

Kinktober day 1: semi-public (Sherlock Holmes x F reader)

Moan

A/N: I must admit I don't really like voyeurism but I really loved the request so I hope I still did it justice <3

Content Warnings: smut, friends to lovers, "let them hear" trope, banter, giggles, fluff, swearing

You didn't have any family. The girls at the factory were your sisters, you all knew each other through and through. So when your friend Rosaly went missing, you knew she counted on you to discover the truth.

The entire country knew of Sherlock Holmes and his incredible detective skills. According to the papers, there wasn't a case he couldn't solve. So you scraped together nearly all your savings and traveled across the country to see him. Sadly, when you arrived at his office on a chilly autumn afternoon you were disappointed to find it empty. With nowhere else to go, you decided to wait it out.

Sherlock Holmes had always been quite the gentleman... and a handsome one at that. He arrived at his office somewhere in the afternoon. He wasn't usually this late, but he was stuck on a case and had indulged himself in one too many drinks the night before, leaving his body tired and his head hurting. However, his headache was quickly forgotten when he noticed a shivering young woman on his office's doorstep.

"Excuse me miss, can I help you?" he asked politely.

"O-oh...I'm s-so sorry...I'm...I n-need..." you shivered

Sherlock took off his big, long coat, wrapping it over your shoulders as he helped you up. "Hush now, little one. Let's get you inside first, shall we?"

Once inside he quickly lit a fire and offered you a hot cup of tea while you told him everything. He agreed to take up the case and after enduring a lot of your begging he agreed to let you join him too.

And thus your adventure with Sherlock began. He offered you the sofa in his office to sleep on and you kept the space tidy and clean for him in return. Surprisingly he found you worked quite well together. You were fearless and smart and on top of that, the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on.

After nearly two weeks of working together, you were finally close to finding out where Rosaly was, through clues that she had left for you.

The puzzle pieces were finally falling together, all you needed was one more piece of information, and according to your last clue, this was where it was supposed to be.

"A brothel?!" You observed as you looked up at the tall building.

There were pink and red lights flowing through the half-closed windows you didn't dare to stare at for too long.

"This is the only address I can find according to those numbers. It has to be here." Sherlock stated.

You took a deep breath. Time to put on your big girl pants.

"Alright. Let's go then," you said, already starting to marsh forward

"Hold on there, little one." he pulled you back by your hips, "You are not coming in there with me."

"What would you have me do then? Stand out here in the dark all by myself?"

You had a good point.

"Fine, but you will do as I say. Understood?"

You rolled your eyes but agreed anyway, joining him as he made his way through the door.

"I need a room," he stated firmly.

"Mister Holmes! Of course!" The lady greeted him with a smile, "I'm sure you don't need an empty room, right?" She joked, "Shall I send up Elisabeth-"

"That won't be necessary." He interrupted quickly. You were sure he was hoping you hadn't caught that, but unfortunately, there was already a jealous twinge spreading in your stomach.

"I brought my own. Just the room will do," he added and then the lady looked you up and down, making a heat surge up your cheeks.

"Sure thing," she replied, looking through her keys, "Only the best for the country's best detective."

She shot you both a wink as she handed him the key and Sherlock quickly took your hand and led you upstairs.

"Go to the room and lock it. I'll be there as soon as I can."

"What are you gonna do?" you asked, a bit worried

"I'll be right back." He repeated before closing the door behind him.

You did as he asked and locked it before silently taking a seat on the bed.

You looked around the room as you nervously toyed with your fingers. The sheets were soft and fluffy. You couldn't help but wonder which secrets they held. Which forbidden sights they had-

*knock knock knock*

You startled for a second until you heard his voice say "Open up..."

You rushed to the door and quickly let him in, locking it again behind him.

"I know where she is."

"What?" you asked, your brain still foggy for everything that was going on

"Rosaly. I know where she is. I know where to find her. We can be with her first thing tomorrow." he spoke again

"I..." You didn't know what to say, so you just did what felt right. You lunged forward and hugged him, whispering a couple "thank you's" as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

He was about to say something when a loud knock startled you yet again.

"Everything okay in there?" a male voice yelled.

You looked at him in panic. They must have seen him wander around the place.

"Moan." He said

"W-what?"

"Moan," he repeated

"W-wha...like...like we're m-making love?"

"No, little one" he grinned, "like we're fucking."

You didn't have time to think as Sherlock Swirled you around and pushed you against the wall with a loud thud.

"Moan, NOW!" he growled.

"Ah!" you moaned, earning a grunt from him in response.

"Do it again, louder," he whispered.

"OH!" you moaned again, louder, just like he asked.

"There you go," he praised, "good girl." There was a grin plastered on his face that made you blush.

Two can play this game, you thought.

You pushed him backward making him fall on the bed, earning another loud groan from him as you crawled on his lap.

"Oh, Sherlock!" You moaned passionately, as your eyes fell shut and your hands found his chest "OH yes YES." you couldn't help but giggle at your own theatrics, making your body bounce a little.

You weren't paying enough attention to his face to notice that the grin had melted away the second you straddled him.

"Oh yeah right THERE, please!!!" you tried to contain your laughter when suddenly Sherlock flipped the both of you over making you gasp.

"YEAH? Feels that good?" his voice was lower now and you could feel his bulge press right between your thighs.

Suddenly...it wasn't so funny anymore.

"Cat got your tongue?" He whispered, leaning down to kiss your cheek.

"I...I don't...I didn't..."

"Is it me that turned you into a stuttering mess or the fact that you're moaning for an audience?" He teased, pressing kisses down your neck to the swells of your breasts, currently threatening to spill out of your dress as your chest heaved underneath him.

"Sh-Sherlock..." you moaned, in earnest this time.

"Shush Sherlock? Do you wish to silence me, little one?" he grinned devilishly as his hands wandered under your dress, caressing your thighs.

"Oh....please..." you whimpered

"Now now, little one, I know you can be louder than that." he chuckled, fingers toying with your undergarments.

"I n-need..."

"Need what? Huh?" he ripped the fabrics in his way until he finally found what he was looking for. "Ah yes, needy you are indeed, as I have never felt a pussy quite as wet as this one..." he teased

"Come on, little one, tell me what you need."

"you..."

"louder..." he whispered lowly in your ear, teeth grazing the shell of it as he left little nibbles all over.

"you...YOU!"

"That's it!" he groaned as he lowered his pants, teasing your wet opening with the sticky tip of his cock.

"Tell them who's making you feel this good!"

"S-stop..."

"Want me to stop?" he smirked, knowing full well your sentence wasn't finished

'N-no! No, please just...AH FUCK!" you screamed as he entered you bare.

"There you go! Scream like the wanton little harlot you are!"

You didn't know if those words were meant just for you or for the men outside but in the moment you didn't care, as it made you squeeze his hard cock even harder.

"Sherlock! Please...please..." You didn't know what you were begging for, seeing as he was already seethed deep inside you, but somehow begging was all you could.

"Stop teasing..." you managed to get out. He loved how sweet and helpless you looked under him. How you managed to look so kind and innocent while he was balls deep inside you remained a mystery to him. Oh sweetheart..., he thought to himself

"....feels so fucking good..." he groaned, dropping down closer to you as he started to gently pump himself in and out of you.

"O-oh..." you moaned, tangling your fingers in his dark curls.

His hand hadn't left your face, while his other hand went on a mission to find the place where you were currently connected, somewhere between all those layers of fabric.

He tilted his hips, angling them to hit a spot inside you that made your eyes flutter, yet when his fingers finally reached their destination they shot open again.

"SHERLOCK!"

"That's right, princess. Let them know who's fucking you this good!"

He continued to pound into you, but despite his rough words, his actions were surprisingly gentle.

"M'gonna...gonna..." you keened, feeling yourself climb higher and higher.

"What do you need, little one?" he groaned, clearly getting very close to the edge as well.

"Little harder...just a little..." you whined, quietly.

Sherlock obeyed, gently building up his thrusts until he was smacking into your pussy perfectly.

"That's right! Need it harder, huh?" he yelled out loudly again.

"YES YES HARDER" you played along before whispering "Kiss me, please..." Making not only his cock but also his heart swell.

He immediately pressed his lips down onto yours, swallowing your moans while his fingers kept strumming your sensitive pearl.

You came hard around his cock and kept pounding into your clenching pussy perfectly. Your left hand pulled at his hair while your other hand clawed at his back so hard his shirt ripped a little.

Your orgasm triggered his, and he let out a loud groan as he shuttered above you while spilling his hot seed deep inside your womb.

You both lay there, a little out of breath. Sherlock had his head buried in the crook of your neck, where started pressing gentle kisses while you played with his hair and traced invisible lines on his back.

That night you and Sherlock stumbled down the stairs of that brothel equally rosy-cheeked. You in your ripped-up dress, he in his torn shirt. You walked out hand in hand, two dozen pairs of eyes burning holes in the back of your skulls, but neither of you cared, for the passion glowing hot in your chests would outburn them all.

A/N: IM SORRY IF THIS WAS SHIT IM ON MY PERIOD AND IM JUST A BIG SAP IM SORRY I APOLOGIZE IM JUST A GIRL YOUR HONOR.

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#gummydummy19 #fanfiction #fluff #smut #smutty thoughts #asks #sherlock holmes #henry cavill #henry holmes

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inkedobsidian · 2 months

Text

~ Fate ~

summary: Lee Yeon takes punishment for killing a human to save Y/N but she puts her life on the line to save him. pairing: Lee Yeon x Reader warnings: blood, pain, knives word count: 2,716 a/n: So this is basically the ‘it was her all along’ trope exactly like the show but a different version so it literally doesn’t follow the show at all, I made it up - hope you enjoy! Requests are open! Prompt list is there if you guys want extra ideas Master-List - Prompts

Even though Lee Yeon had been waiting for centuries to find her again, the moment he did he almost thought she was a mirage. He had been coming to this ice cream shop for years and not once had he seen her before. So when the bell on the door rang catching his attention it was almost like time stood still, or flashed back even.

Somehow she had the same face? It felt like it was too good to be true. So much so that Lee Yeon had to convince himself that she wasn’t real, that it was just a coincidence. It was just his luck that you managed to be the new start at that exact ice cream shop. It felt like a cruel trick from the world, toying with his heart.

He just couldn’t help himself. After a while, Y/N began to notice lights, like fireflies always around her. She always smiled when she saw them like the stars were keeping her safe. Although it wasn’t the stars. Shin-Joo kept trying to warn him not to get too involved, it might not even be her, but of course, he didn’t listen.

Lee Yeon knew that the minute he took another human's life to save hers he’d have a heavy punishment but he knew he’d endure any pain in the world to keep her safe. The whole situation felt like a dream to Y/N. She led such an ordinary life, but if she knew the world that surrounded her she’d have a very different idea.

She never expected her life to completely transform in what felt like the blink of an eye. Normally she was so safe walking home, she had taken this route countless times before. Maybe that was her problem. The minute she felt a pull on her arm she let out a scream. The force of something hitting her in the abdomen was enough to knock her to the ground. As she began to cough the figure stood up straight in front of her. With only light streetlights behind them all Y/N could see was a silhouette. That’s when she sees them, the fireflies.

From the darkness came a blinding light, like something on fire. It illuminated the silhouette red and she thought she imagined it at first, but she could swear she could see glowing eyes in the distance. She watched the figure spin on the spot towards the light, but just as quick as he spun he dropped to his knees. Lee Yeon knew he wasn’t supposed to interfere, that he wasn’t supposed to take a human life, but he broke the rules for her once before and he’d do it a million times over.

Y/N hadn’t noticed that the blunt force she felt was actually a knife so she had no time to react before passing out in the alleyway. Luckily Lee Yeon rushed past to pick her up he dashed to his car trying his hardest to get her to Shin-Joo. Lee Yeon was too focused on driving to even notice that Y/N was dipping in and out of consciousness. Although for some reason, regardless of what just happened to her, she felt safe. She could see the fireflies.

When Y/N finally woke up she was in a stranger's bed, she didn’t enjoy the sudden empty feeling in her stomach. She was fully dressed, still wearing the clothes she had that night except now there was a bandage wrapped around her abdomen. As she made her way around the strange apartment she noticed a smell from the kitchen. She made her way there slowly trying to make as little sound as possible.

Shin-Joo was doing his best to prepare breakfast for the guest as quietly as he could. So much so that when Y/N made a sound entering the room he jumped in surprise letting out a little squeal. Y/N immediately flung her hands up in surprise not really knowing how to react.

“Erm, where am I?” On the list of questions she could ask it felt like the most obvious one. She clearly wasn’t chained up but that didn’t mean something sinister wasn’t happening. Shin-Joo put down the veg he was cleaning and wiped his hands on his apron.

“I’m Shin-Joo, you got attacked yesterday. Do you remember?” He said while motioning towards the chairs at the kitchen island, it was probably best she sat down after a situation like that. As her body sunk into the chair she then felt the pang of pain from her side and suddenly the pieces fell into place.

“The alley… the fire… they were there again.” Shin-Joo nodded as she spoke until the last part, he cocked his head to the side in confusion waiting for her to elaborate but she never did. It was like she was stuck in the memory again.

“What was there again?” Shin-Joo pressed on for information. He couldn’t deny he was interested in figuring out who she was and how she had the same face.

“The fireflies,” She smiled as she spoke as if these tiny creatures were her sworn protector, “Where’s the man gone?” Her sudden mention of Lee Yeon made Shin-Joo jump. Lee Yeon said she was unconscious when he brought her to the vet. She began to look around but she wasn’t going to find him, he’d already gone to accept his punishment.

“He had to take care of some business, you probably won’t see him” Shin-Joo did his best to skate around the truth. Even though she seen the fox right in front of her she would probably never believe in his existence. She immediately started slowly shaking her head from side to side.

“No, you know him so you also know where he is, you have to take me to him” She protested. At first, she didn’t know why she was reacting this way, there was some fire inside of her and she knew that she had to find him again. Shin-Joo was interested in this reaction, he could almost feel her determination. Like something reaching out from the past that was so close, within an arms reach.

He tried to protest but if he had thought Lee Yeon was stubborn he had met a new champion. Y/N would not budge for any excuse or reason in the book and Shin-Joo was almost too excited at the situation to fight back properly. Eventually, he caved and drove her there, it wasn’t like she was going to be able to get in let alone speak to him so if it would satisfy her need then he was willing to entertain her plea to see Lee Yeon.

What Shin-Joo wasn’t expecting was the Y/N just opened the door and walked straight in. She shouldn’t be able to do that. She really shouldn’t be able to do that. With more determination than she’d ever felt Y/N walked through the massive building, almost overwhelmed by emotion or maybe it was just fear. She rounded the corner and came face to face with an old woman who spoke calmly but sternly.

“You should not be here, leave.” There was no emotion on her face. Y/N got the chills just looking at her in the eyes, there were too many stories behind those eyes.

“Please I’m here to see someone, I was told he’d be here.” Y/N didn’t know what to do at this point. She had no idea what she’d walked into and she was completely out of her depth. Despite everything against her she held strong and endured the piercing gaze. The old lady cocked her eyebrow as if she had an idea, let's see how far she would go for a man she’d never met.

“Fine…follow me.” The old woman turned on her heel towards the back of the main room. She snaped her fingers and a part of the wall flung open like doors revealing a grey hellish landscape. She motioned for Y/N to go in. Y/N at this point just assumed she was still asleep. This was an elaborate dream she was having while unconscious. At this thought she let out a laugh, what’s the point of being so serious if it’s just a dream?

“This is a dream right, ahh that’s a re-” Before Y/N could finish her sentence the old lady hit her across the arm with a nearby ruler stinging Y/N instantly. She recoiled in pain and shock. Okay, not a dream then. Everything suddenly got very real, “Okay, not a dream. Got it.”

Y/N had no idea what she was doing and frankly, she was too far to turn back now. She walked through the door and was suddenly in a completely new environment. She was on a dusty and grey cliffside. As if all the color had been drained from the world, it felt like hell. All she could see was the doorframe behind her leading to her normal world and on the other side a long rope bridge. She couldn’t see past more than 10 steps of the bridge it was shrouded in a thick fog. Who knows how long it is? Suddenly she was joined by the old lady who spoke calmly again, like she’d done this a thousand times.

“You have entered into a world you know very little about. He broke an oath when he took a human life to save you and he is now paying that debt on the other side of the bridge. He will remain here until the end of his punishment,” She paused and walked closer to the bridge the wind picking up and making it sway side by side, “However if you are willing to cross this bridge to the other side I will let him go.”

It seemed too easy, Y/N knew that. She walked closer to the bridge trying to guess what the trick was however the closer she got the further she wanted to run away. What was she really doing here, for a man she hadn’t spoken to? Yet he saved her life knowing he would be punished. Maybe she owed it to him. Maybe all of this was still a dream, that was the one she was holding onto.

“It’s too simple.” Was all she could muster. The old lady nodded slowly agreeing with her, she still held the same blank expression and the lack of emotion was really starting to freak her out.

“It is the bridge to Knife Mountain,” The old woman paused almost as if she were waiting to be questioned. However, Y/N loved mythology growing up so she followed along, “You may cross it and free him, but be warned once you start you cannot turn back. This could very well kill you. Is it worth it?”

Y/N took a long time looking in between the door and the bridge, she was talking towards certain death there was no way of beating around the bush about that. Crossing a bridge she can’t see the end of knowing knives are going to be flying towards her. She could feel something in her heart like her soul was glowing like this moment right here is where her entire life changed. So she turned her back to the world she knew and took her first step across the bridge.

Y/N was not going to waste time to find out just how bad this was going to be. Holding both sides of the bridge and trying to keep her head as low as she could she started to walk plank to plank across the rickety bridge. She really hoped this was just a test of bravery and there weren’t any actual knives, she prayed the legends were wrong. It didn’t take long for the first knife to whip past her arm making a slit in her arm, recoiling from the pain she then got hit by a knife flying to her right. Luckily she stood her ground quickly and tried to focus on her steps more than the pain. Luckily they had only grazed past her, almost like the bridge was toying with her.

The next one went a good few layers deep in her thigh and suddenly it was all starting to pick up. Y/N could feel the wind rushing past her and in retaliation, she tried to pick up the pace. Maybe if she could get through it fast enough she could make it out alive. The wind got heavier and suddenly she felt more objects fly past her body. Then she felt it, cut by cut as they just caught minor parts of her skin. It wouldn’t be so bad if it was 1 or 2 but the more she ran the higher the number got. She could feel her skin starting to swell and bleed and suddenly each step felt heavier and heavier. She was losing too much blood to keep running.

Then that fire returned the same fire that made her take the first step. The feeling like her soul was glowing, only it was. She looked down to see what looked like a light coming from inside of her. It roared orange like it was coming alive and suddenly she couldn’t feel the pain anymore. Her body did not feel light but it was almost like it was trying to keep her alive. Then she caught a glimpse of it, a mountainside far off in the distance. That was all she needed a sign she was almost there. As the fire inside her grew the light got brighter. All she could feel was her feet taking her away as if something else was in control of her body.

Lee Yeon who had been shrouded in mist and fog didn’t really know how to react when he saw a flicker of light in the distance. At first, he thought he was imagining it but the larger and closer it got the harder it was to ignore. His eyes couldn't make anything out as the light hadn’t pierced through the fog yet and even as it began to it was too bright to find its source. The chains made it hard for him to look up barely being able to strain his neck but he also couldn’t manage to pull his eyes off the light.

As his vision started to focus and the light started to concentrate he saw Y/N bathed in bright red fire, he could see the flames forming 9 tails behind her with one prominent light emanating from her chest. She had it, the fox orb. The closer she got to Lee Yeon the more she felt like it was dragging her more than leading her, dragging her towards him. With the powers of the fox orb, it didn’t take long for Y/N to end up in front of Lee Yeon.

It was almost like the orb knew she was safe because suddenly the fire faded and she dropped to her knees in front of him. As she strained her neck to look up Lee Yeon could already see the different cuts along her face and neck. Suddenly they were face to face and Lee Yeon watched her eyes fade from the fox glow back to her natural colour.

“I think this means the old lady is gonna let us go now.” She laughed out, although it was strained and breathy due to the pain coursing through her body. Just as she spoke, with almost magic timing, the chains holding Lee Yeon in place disappeared and his arms dropped to his sides, the blood from his body finally flowing again. He heard the door behind him fling open and he could feel the old woman's presence behind him but he really didn’t care. The first thing he did when he was free and could feel again was hold her face.

He looked at her so intently and she didn’t even flinch. She matched his stare and his expression softened instantly and without knowing tears began to well in his eyes. It was real, he had waited all this time after everything he sacrificed. There was so much he had to say, had to do but all that could wait. He just smiled and ran a thumb along her cheek.

“I finally found you.”

#lee yeon #lee yeon imagine #lee yeon fanfic #lee yeon x reader #lee yeon x you #lee yeonx y/n #lee yeonfanfiction #tale of the nine tailed #totnt #lee dong wook #lee dong wook imagine #lee dong wook fanfic #lee dong wook x reader #lee dong wook x you #lee dong wook x y/n #lee dong wook fanfiction

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sukibeloved · 2 months

Text

okay so i binged the entire show and now i have thoughts.

positives

- the set is absolutely stunning i was breath taken every time it’s as if they just pulled it straight out of the cartoon. incredible

- the castings were so good! they really are what i would have envisioned

- APPA AND MOMO ARE AMAZING!!!!!!!

- i think merging the earth kingdom episodes was a smart PRODUCTION decision. it was confusing as an og watcher however it makes sense for the live version cause they can’t just keep coming back to the earth kingdom (they mixed eps 5, 10, 17) and also i believe they linked it well so i’m alright with it genuinely.

- zuko’s actor perfectly nailed the acting. whenever it was a flashback scene it felt like zuko was 3 years younger despite looking the same, because zuko was more innocent sounding. and then the acting for current zuko was major sass (which was the best part)

- SUKI ATE DOWN SO HARD

- avatar kyoshi was 7 FOOT TALL. all i have to say

- sokkas actor ate down i fear 🫶

negatives (or just minor critics)

- azula, ty lee and mai were not supposed to be in book/season 1 and it didn’t really make sense for them. i love all 3 their my girls however it felt like a fan service and they didn’t really provide any plot development. ESPECIALLY MAI AND TY LEE i swear the girls just stood and watched azula fight and that’s all. i think what could/should have been done is feature azula at the end scene like they did and make it a whole big reveal and if they really wanted to provide fan service chuck mai and ty lee next to her. i understand the girls are fan favourites but if they wanted to make hype for the second season it would have been better to just show them at the very end to get fans excited. instead i found myself annoyed when they popped up because they weren’t needed.

- it would have been fine to have the girls for flashback scenes. also! in book 2 we start off with azula having to find mai and ty lee. they aren’t meant to just be together already. what happened to circus ty lee? that’s like a really important detail idk.

- i felt the humour was lacking. NOT BECAUSE OF THE ACTORS. it was not their fault and i loved sokkas deliveries when he had the chance to. the blame is on the writers but the issue was is the series was more dark (which is fine) but it erased the humour from the show so toward the end i found myself getting a bit bored. i think what caused this is the removal of the “filler” episodes.

- secret tunnel? that is meant to be in season 2 and i felt a bit robbed because wdym that’s all we got?

- i also feel that the found family trope wasn’t executed as well as it could have been probably also because it lacked filler episodes. we didn’t get to see them hang out and actually get to know each other so we haven’t seen them build that connection yet. obviously we assume with context they have but idk it makes it lack.

- yue my girl 😭 first of all the wig which i’m not gonna talk about. i cant exactly place what was wrong but yue’s storyline made me cry my eyes out for days and i LOVE HER. for whatever reason i did not feel this way. i want to say it might be because suki & sokka kissed like in ep2 which felt like 5 days ago idk. -> also i jumped up and down when that happened. but it just felt like not as dramatic as it was which was so upsetting cause i was getting ready to bawl.

- katara was more chill. i love her actress btw i blame the directors for this. i just feel like they swapped sokka & kataras roles sort of, sokka was shown as the more mature one and trying to be like his dad whereas katara was viewed as the “little girl” their whole dynamic was that katara was way more mature to the point sokka ONLY PICTURED KATATA when he thought of his OWN MUM? i also feel like katata didnt blow up and get angry as much as she should of idk?

#atla #avatar the last airbender #avatar #zuko #azula #katara #sokka #aang #avatar netflix #ty lee #mai #yue

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acewitch-writes · 4 months

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Hello! I recently found your account, and I went on scrolling down and down...and now I hope you know how grateful I am. Thank u- Merci. About 90% of the content you share here has made me feel so much better. I realllyy hope wonderful things happen for you. I've been a fan of hp since 2001, but I'm not really a social media person so I haven't been active in the fandom. I had no idea what was happening here until recently..two months ago to be exact (other details are not important) and omg.. I ended up in a discussion with some I think, new fans. tbh I thought, "Great! I'm good at this, I read all the books more than once Let's talk :)" and omg their very first question was "What do you think about Regulus?"

I was like, "Who?" *dying from secondhand embarrassment bc It turns out I'm not that good at this

but as the discussion continued, I became more and more baffled bc "Why was everyone talking about Barty, Evan, and Regulus? who is daddy Remu? and what do you mean people ship James Potter with R.A.B.? What?"

I swear for a moment I thought "Did the writer publish a new book? Did I miss something? " tbh, I respect everyone's opinion it's none of my business but I'm still shocked. The only thing that bothers me is everything that happened with this new Wolfsar

omg, for most fans around my age (or at least people I know), Sirius was the complete portrayal of a bad boy- a rebel, with boots, tattoos, a leather jacket, and a fucking motorcycle. so this new Sirius is like a stranger to me, and that's okay. Mein issue is kinda with this new Remus T T my beloved .

They (the fans I was talking with) told me Remus is "tall, so handsome, SO strong, and hot-headed person because, yk he's a werewolf." I was like "hot headed? excuse me?" I tried to explain to them that Remus being a werewolf is a metaphor for illnesses like HIV, it's not some superpowery gift. they didn't believe me, but then they literally looked me in the face and said, "Then why would Sirius like someone like him? He's poor, short, and ugly." I swear I wanted to cry right then and there.

What is this mindset that makes some people think that a person should be, Idk, hot and flawless to deserve to be loved? Yes I don't think Remus is tall and super hot and perfect and isn't it fine? and I am 100% sure he's so beautiful. not like Sirius ofc but he has this "warm, cozy, and soft" sort of beauty. and I don't think he was a coward (ok maybe he was a liitle) but I guess it's easier for us, humans, to take the worst or weakest moment of a character and amplify it until it defines them entirely. and omg I'm so sorry for my rant and my bad english. but once again thank you for your beautiful soul <3 thank you

Hi anon! I, too, am baffled by the recent obsession with Regulus in this fandom. I think Jegulus is fine as a crack ship, but it has become so mainstream that many fans have just gone ahead and canonized it to the point that you'll be vilified for not accepting it as canon. I underestimated how popular the "best friend's brother" trope was, apparently. I also think it appeals to many fans as a Marauders Era version of one of the most popular ships of all time, Drarry.

This new version of Wolfstar is my biggest complaint with today's fandom, too! I get that the Marauders have very limited canon information and therefore we have more creative freedom to flesh them out, but I really believe that it has gone way too far. Sirius and Remus in today's fandom don't bear any resemblance to the characters they're based on. Remus is just a generic alpha werewolf OC and Sirius is his generic himbo femboy love interest OC. They don't even share a physical description with their Canon counterparts, and their personalities and character traits are so far removed that I can't even fathom how we reached this point as a fandom. How can you claim to like these characters if you have to change everything the source material says about them?

You're English is great, by the way! I completely agree that Remus has a cozy-and-warm sort of beauty. He made a point to distance himself from the stigma surrounding Lycanthropy because it was the focal point of his shame and self-loathing. And I just adore Wolfstar's dynamic from this lens, with the intimidatingly beautiful, confident, headstrong Sirius Black, who could have his pick of anyone he wants, choosing this ordinary guy because he's cozy and soft and it's exactly what Sirius wants after surviving the harsh ideals and abuse of House Black.

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szmacblog · 1 month

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Old-Time Tradition: Folk Musicals

Grease (1978)

This film follows Danny (John Travolta) and Sandy (Olivia Newton-John), two teenagers from different worlds. After a summer fling, they thought they would never see each other ever again, but unexpectedly reunite in the same school. Sandy, initially a wholesome stereotypical "IT girl”, tries to fit in with Danny's greaser crew, the T-Birds, and their sassy counterparts, the Pink Ladies.

Identity in Grease: A Song and Dance

The musical numbers in Grease are very energetic and catchy, but they also play a big role in exploring how the characters navigate their identities. Many songs like "Look at Me, I'm Sandra Dee"—(I don’t drink, or swear. I don’t wrap my hair. I get ill from one cigarette. Keep your filthy paws from my silky dress)—and "Beauty School Dropout" showcase characters trying on different identities. Sandy tries to be the ideal 50s girl, while Rizzo rejects society's expectations. They all use songs to experiment and find their place in the T-Birds/Pink Ladies dynamic. On the other hand, songs like "Greased Lightnin'" and "We Go Together" solidify that bond that we can perceive between the T-Birds and Pink Ladies. Moreover, love, frustration, and teenage angst all find voice through the music. "Hopelessly Devoted to You", probably the most emotional song on the movie’s tracklist, lays bare Sandy's feelings, portraying her as the basic, easily enamored girl.

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The film reinforces stereotypical gendered behaviors. For example, in “Summer Nights”, the girls' lyrics ("Tell me more, was it love at first sight?") center around romance and emotions, suggesting a more emotional and sensitive view of love. Whereas the boys' lyrics ("Tell me more, did she put up a fight?") imply a focus on sexual conquest, portraying a more aggressive and sexualized view of romantic relationships. The song reinforces the idea that men and women approach love differently based on these stereotypes and it could be argued that it promotes non-consensual intimacy.

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The characters in Grease don't just burst into song for no reason, their world revolves around music. The energy and choreography allow characters to process their emotions in a big way. In fact, the film doesn't shy away from showing the characters enjoying music and dance for pure fun.

Yet, the world of Grease isn't exactly diverse

It is noticeable that the film avoids touching on any serious social issues of the 1950s, like racial tensions or economic disparity. This creates a sanitized version of the past and ignores the complexities of real life. Moreover, it pushes away the idea of 'Black Joy' as being something achievable even more. The music itself doesn't delve into racial themes, and there is quite literally, only one visible Black character in the movie—Frederick "Dennis" Greene as part of the singing group Johnny Casino and the Gamblers, reinforcing the idea that "Black musicality—the all-blacks-got-rhythm syndrome—of White cinema." (Dyer 98.)

The Ordinary → Utopia

Several elements align with the classic trope of white musicals seeking to transform the ordinary into a utopia; everyone is happy and music comes out of nowhere. Sandy's journey from a demure, "good girl" to a leather-clad greaser epitomizes this trope. Her initial wholesomeness represents the ordinary, while her adoption of the greaser look signifies a transformation into something cooler and more exciting. This aligns with the utopian ideal of escapism. On the other hand, Rydell High itself is portrayed as a somewhat utopian space. Sure, there are cliques and social pressures, but overall, it's a place where teenagers can have carefree fun. Finally, the film's resolution reinforces the utopian ideal. Danny and Sandy reconcile, the T-Birds and Pink Ladies maintain their cool-kid status, and everyone seems to get their happily-ever-after. This all-pink ending avoids the complexities of real life, where there are serious conflicts and consequences for teenage rebellion, and presents a more utopian world.

Circular time?

Black musicals often depict a cyclical view of time, where characters return to their "real life." As Dyer states, "white joy is in a space freed from labor; Black fun dips into the thing to have a good time while working." We can clearly notice this in the film. The ending suggests the T-Birds and Pink Ladies will stay on this high school path, but there's no real sense of daily life hardship.

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#@theuncannyprofessoro #oxyfilmmusical #Youtube #panel discussion

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mediocre-daydreams · 2 years

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I SAW UR MARVEL X FAMOUS READER THING and can i please req for a bucky x singer!reader or peter parker x singer!reader and the secret relationship trope where the avengers catch peter/bucky in a phone call and catching them acting all pouty and whiney and all cute and twirling their hair while giggling like school girls and the avengers being all shocked but not knowing who he was talking to + little scenes or bucky/peter smirking or looking proud whenever r is on tv + and the all the avengers going to some sort of concert or event where r is performing and r literally going down to the audience while performing to kiss bucky/peter and just social media freaking out !!

I LOVED WRITING THIS!! sorry it took so long to finish; i wanted it to be perfect for my tubmblr spouse ksjdfhd. anyways this was so so cute and i'm gonna do some extra drabbles + smau bonus posts because wow i loved this concept

𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐧

peter parker x singer! reader

notes: swearing, mentions of the birds and bees in a non-sexual way, so much fluff bro, the tiniest smidge of angst it's like a sprinkle of salt, a bit of insecure peter feeling like he's not enough, vague description of canon-level violence, lowkey breaking the fourth wall, the avengers are nosy as fuck and definition crack, clint is in his red (taylor's version) era

w/c: 5.2k

the songs used in the fic are by taylor swift + linked at the bottom of the post <3 (but also taylor canonically exists in this universe so she still has her music peter's a swiftie just go with it pls)

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

peter parker never failed to confound; and no, it wasn’t just the avengers that were confused by his… antics. may, mj, and ned were equally as surprised when they caught peter parker, their [overly] enthusiastic, nervous, forever-in-motion peter parker, casually laying in bed, propped against a pillow with one arm behind his head that made him look like some cookie-cutter male love interest in a cheesy romcom, nonchalantly talking to a female voice from his phone.

mj and ned were no idiots—they’d been the first to discover his spiderman identity so scoping out the identity of peter’s secret female friend was almost as easy as getting flash to talk about sports cars. peter eventually had to spill the beans to may after she confronted him about his ridiculously high monthly phone bill.

but the team of the world’s best spies, geniuses with multiple PhDs, highly trained super soldier assassins, and the man who singlehandedly made the “birds aren’t real, they’re government spies” conspiracy come true, still hadn’t managed to find the tea they so desperately wanted peter to spill. they were too prideful to ask peter to his face and admit defeat, so for weeks, they’d pulled out all their tricks only to fail miserably.

sam tried having redwing perch outside peter’s window to catch footage of any new visitors; there were none. clint, who’d snuck into the vents, and bucky, utilizing his super soldier hearing, had tried eavsdropping on one of his calls. all they heard was peter singing off key and then a yelp as he snapped one of his guitar strings. steve and bruce had tried to casually sit peter down and talk to him about the birds and the bees, hoping that peter would let something slip about any of his romantic or sexual relationships, but peter just groaned and said may had already told him this. natasha even tried hacking into peter’s internet and phone history, but once she found the spiderman tiktok edits and an obscene number of shirtless pictures, she had to stop.

after a lot of bribery and light extortion from tony (who was probably the most invested in revealing peter’s gal pal), wanda reluctantly tried to read peter’s mind, only to see flashes of who she presumed to be peter’s celebrity crush. the avengers had never pegged peter for a fanboy (actually, a good third of them thought he swung the other way and sam and bucky insisted he was on the path to incel-hood), but the fanatic squealing and giggling that emanated from peter’s room every night told a different story. it was clear: the boy had an unhealthy parasocial relationship with a girl who would never know of his existence.

“hey petey pie, d’you still have my artisanal hand lotion?” tony came up to peter as he tinkered with his web shooters.

“oh yeah, mr. stark! they’re in my room and on my desk. you can just go in, if you want.” peter had a spare room in the tower that he used after long missions or big lab projects; it was much more empty than his room at aunt may’s. as most teenagers did, peter considered his bedroom a personal, private sanctuary, but his tower room’s furnishings were pretty basic and he usually didn’t even bother to close the door.

peter’s desk was fairly empty sans tony’s lotion, but because of how barren it was, tony’s eye was automatically drawn to the papers at the corner of the table. no, not his illegible chemistry notes. there was a flyer advertising your upcoming tour dates and locations, and underneath it was an autographed vinyl of what tony assumed was one of your albums.

but tony was truly horrified when he found the bottle of half-used perfume from your brand sitting on peter’s nightstand, in front of a framed picture of him photoshopped next to you.

“peter, we need to have a chat.” tony gestured to the communal living room, where steve, bucky, sam, wanda, and natasha were sitting. steve was holding a sheet of printer paper that said “intervention.”

peter looked around the room, trying to figure out who the intervention was for. “you never call me peter,” he laughed nervously, “is something going on? are we throwing a surprise party?”

peter made the mistake of looking over at steve and he couldn’t help but cower under the nation’s most powerful I’m Not Mad, Just Disappointed Face™.

“kid, why don’t you take a seat?” steve sighed like a Disapointed Father™.

peter sat as far away from the rest of the avengers as he could, wary of how they’d all been looking at him. that was his second mistake, because he ended up across from a team of master interrogators who were staring him down like he was their next victim (because he was).

“we wanted to discuss- uh, the… internet with you,” bucky began.

“oh, mr. sergeant bucky sir, if you need help with the wifi router again, i can show you how to fix it yourself, it’s easy, ac-”

“no- no! that’s not… we’re not talking about that. so obviously your aunt may has already given you the se- safe reproductive activities talk, but we wanted you know, as tech experts-” bruce looked at tony and nat. “-to make sure you understood safe internect practices. safe and healthy internet practice.”

peter visibly relaxed. “oh, if that’s what you’re worried about, it’s all good! midtown has a mandatory seminar and i already know not to use omegle—i learned that the hard way, but i did learn; plus, i took a scratch lesson about html so i’m pretty like, tech proficient.”

“peter, have you ever heard of parasocial relationships?” the rest of the team shot wanda dirty looks at her slip up. they were supposed to ease into the whole thing so that peter didn’t get scared and run off.

“oh, like dating app parasites? yeah, ned was joking around on christian mingle and got this horrible-”

“let me put this into chronically online gen z words,” natasha grimaced. “do you know what the infinitive ‘to stan’ means?”

peter was puzzled. “oh yeah, of course! this guy flash from school has a huuuge obsession with sebastian stan; like, he stans sebastian stan. it’s kind of unhealthy. i’m pretty sure flash thinks he’s the y/n in a ‘my mom sold me to one direction for money’ ao3 fanfiction.”

“right…” sam’s face was all screwed up as he tried to steer the conversation away from 2000s boyband kidnapping aus. “and what about you, peter? do you stan anyone? any… attractive female celebrity who’s approximately your age?”

peter looked genuinely confused. “i mean, i’m a swiftie, if that counts. but not in an unhealthy way!” peter reassured. “i’m not one of those people who has a twitter account dedicated to analyzing the spray painted words on the wall she pisses on in the music video for the man to try and figure out the order of her next album releases, so don’t worry. i’m perfectly normal.” he laughed shrilly.

steve shuffled for something behind him. “i didn’t want to have to do this,” steve enunciated, holding up a picture of you. “we found your shrine and the pictures you’ve photoshopped yourself into and we know that you’ve deluded yourself into thinking that you have a relationship with her and we’re just worried, okay? look, i also enjoy her songs every once in a while, but this is too far. we can’t have an avenger with compromised judgement out on the field.”

peter’s mouth gaped and he stared at the picture steve had chosen, feeling himself blush. that was the picture you’d asked him for his opinion on it before posting it on instagram. and that was the night you’d sent him a voice memo of a song you’d written for him, in which you’d told him how you’d loved him for the first time.

“uh, come again?” peter’s voice turned up at the end in his confusion, but the other avengers took it as a sign that he was lying.

“okay, this is enough. we’re taking him to cho for an evaluation,” tony snapped, taking peter by the arm and dragging him down the hallway.

“hey- hey! wait! i’m not delusional, just let me-” peter scrambled for his phone, trying to pull out pictures of you and him together as proof, but he dropped it amidst the chaos of tony’s fussing and nat and bruce’s hushed whispering, and the exclamations of surprise in this unplanned step of the intervention.

peter watched as his phone clattered to the ground and he reached his free hand out for it cinematically, but it was to no avail. that stuff never worked in the movies either.

“jarvis!” peter yelled desperately.

“yes, young spiderling?” jarvis replied. tony must’ve reprogrammed eyerbody’s name in jarvis’ system.

“play voice memo! uh, the most recent one!”

“playing voice memo: this is peter with trial four- ahhhh! no, not that one!” crashing noises and a string of curses from a voice in the background that made steve flinch ensued. “oh my god, mr. stark’s going to kill me if he every finds out-”

“stop! no! jarvis, um, play the second most recent voice memo!”

peter looked at the ground to avoid tony’s withering glare. “we will be discussing this later,” tony warned.

“playing voice memo.” through tony’s newly installed surround sound speakers, your silvery voice reverberated around the high-ceilinged walls and silenced the other avengers’ jabbers.

“my thoughts will echo your name until i see you again, these are the words i held back as i was leaving too soon—i was enchanted to meet you.”

sam’s mouth dropped. “what the fuck? i didn’t peter say he learned to code on scratch? how did he work out this voice generator thing?”

bucky’s face contorted into the cute stupid expression he made every time he was confused. “relax, the kid probably recorded a live performance on the you-bee-too to feed into his whole hormonal teenage crisis fantasy.”

peter was outraged and opened his mouth to protest. steve cut him off. “kid, young people at your age will go through… ahem… changes. and perhaps that has manifested into a romantic yearning towards this lovely young woman, or uh,” steve blushed. “the desire to… fondue is very common as you develop into a man, and i myself-” steve choked and started coughing to avoid spilling any dangerous blackmail material. bucky patted his friend on the back knowingly.

“hey horndogs,” tony yelled from the front of the crowd, where he was still struggling to drag peter. “can someone turn off the damn music? i don’t want to know what the kid gets up to in his free time, like, at all. especially not in song form.”

“will you all stop calling me kid?” peter begged, finally freeing himself from tony’s *iron* hold. “look, that song’s unreleased, so i couldn’t have just recorded it off youtube. plus, tony already banned me from working with voice AIs after i accidentally broke karen and she wouldn’t stop screaming for like, six days straight.”

natasha raised her eyebrows, but nodded. “and we know the boy isn’t smart enough to come up with those lyrics on his own.”

“hey!” peter defended. “no, actually, yeah. you’re right.”

“what does this have to do with anything?” sam interrupted, throwing his hands in the air. “i personally find it creepier that he got access to the girl’s unreleased music. and don’t even get me started on the shrine-”

“she’s not some girl, she’s my girlfriend!” peter blurted.

steve scoffed. “sure she is. gorgeous, talented, multi-millionare singer-songwriter from brooklyn, mind you, is your girlfriend? what’s next, bucky and sam’s bickering is actually unresolved sexual tension?”

“yes?!” peter hissed incredulously. “you’re just jealous,” he huffed,” and don’t even lie, mr. captain rogers sir. i heard you crying to this is me trying last week. which, by the way, are you okay? anyways, yes, we’re dating.

“i didn’t ‘photoshop’ the pictures, i- how would i even-? it’s not like there’s conveniently a picture of her in a photo booth holding up a green prop mustache that i can edit myself into. my ‘shrine?’ she sends me previews of her merch and stuff, i’m not gonna throw it out. it’s not like i’m collecting strands of her hair to replicate her dna. we literally just call each other,” peter huffed.

“we call each other, and- and she teaches me to play guitar… she writes songs for me… she has the sweetest cats… and she’s so beautiful and i can’t believe she’s mine…” peter rambled on with glazed eyes and a dopey smile on his face.

steve scowled.

wanda sighed dreamily. “i can tell how much you like her… your thoughts are so bright every time you think about her…”

“excuse me?” peter raised his eyebrows defensively. “were you… reading my mind?”

“there are no secrets in this tower, underoo.” tony slung a heavy arm over peter. “what’s yours is ours.”

peter squinted. “i’m pretty sure that’s not how the saying- whatever.”

“secrets? please, we all remember when you tried to hide your baby photos. the vents were a stupid idea.” natasha snorted. “anyways, when do we get to meet her?”

“meet who?” peter lied innocently. if the avengers had been this zealous over a couple pictures of her, god knows what they’d do if they ever saw her in person? (and god knows what steve would do.)

“doesn’t matter. play dumb all you want kid, but we both know you’re smarter than that.” tony chattered absentmindedly, but peter went red at the casual compliment. “i saw the tour dates already; peter left ‘em in his room. second to last concert’s in new york, two weeks from now. i’ll pull a couple strings; easy.”

tony took off his yellow-tinted glasses and cleaned the lenses on his shirt. “right. jarvis, cancel all plans for the saturday two weeks from now. and reschedule that dry cleaners appointment to… uh, tuesday. gotta wash the merch before wearing it. oh yeah, and set a reminder for… tonight at 9, to shop for merch.”

tony looked smugly down at peter, who blinked a few times, dazed. “uh, thank you, i guess? thank you, mr. stark.”

in the two weeks leading up to the concert, peter was hearing your voice all over the compound. steve had officially indoctrinated bucky and sam into fans after he’d showed them his favorite album, and now the three of them would frequently squabble over which songs were the best lyrically, melodically, and emotionally.

peter had seen wanda comforting a crying clint, who’d been listening to all too well on repeat for three days straight. (peter wasn’t sure why. clint was happily married.)

he nearly had a heart attack when natasha cornered him murderously with a perfectly manicured finger pointed threateningly at his chest. (right then, peter tried to come to terms with the fact that in his eulogy, they would reveal that he had died from a fingernail impaling.) it turned out that natasha had come to interrogate peter on how he’d met you, confessing that she wanted girl tips. natasha had also sworn to make his death long and painful if he ever told anybody about it.

what delighted peter the most is when he’d heard tony listening to one of your songs in lieu of his hard metal while working in his lab. and he swore he’d tony humming one of your songs while making breakfast a few days before the concert.

peter didn’t think it was possible, but his high was only multiplied once your merch arrived. it was like a second civil war had broken out. tony had made sure to order multiple of each item, but overlooked the fact that all the avengers wanted the limited edition concert tour t-shirt and an autographed copy of your newest album. he watched from the sidelines as grown adults threw hissy fits over themed notebooks and guitar picks (even though none of them played guitar), knowing he was already supplied thanks to your gifts.

even may, mj, and ned had gotten into the spirit. they’d surprised him one evening, after a tiring mission, by showing him the short video you’d sent them along with 3 vip tickets.

“hi aunt may,” you smiled lovingly at the camera. “thank you so much for… everything, i guess. for raising peter. and letting him see me; i know that it’s not easy or typical, but peter’s job isn’t easy or typical either. i love your son so, so dearly, and i just wanted to let you know that i’d do almost anything for him—whatever his job entails and whatnot. i’ve been on tour, so haven’t seen peter in a while, but i would love to see him again and maybe meet you and peter’s friends as well, which is why i’ve sent you three tickets.”

may cooed and told peter what an angel you were, and ned and mj teased him relentlessly for how stupidly in love he looked when he saw your face in the video.

“you’re down bad, man,” ned laughed, pushing peter’s chest. mj punched peter’s arm, telling him he was “one lucky bastard,” and peter’s only reaction was to whine about how they were manhandling him.

the night before the concert, peter was panicking about what to wear. though tony had been the most annoying about peter’s relationship, he’d come to check on his mentee and tony’s heart panged as he saw the anxiety radiating off of peter.

“what’s wrong, spiderboy?” tony sat on the edge of peter’s bed as the boy examined himself in the mirror. tony patted the space beside him.

“n-nothing, mr. stark.”

tony looked at peter disbelievingly.

peter sighed. “i’m just- she’s a superstar, like, she’s got fans and front-page modeling contracts and everyone loves her. sometimes i just don’t believe that she’d actually love me, y’know? ‘cause she’s her, and i’m just peter. some kid from queens who got bitten by a spider.” peter looked at his feet, eyes burning. “i’m not rich, or famous, or popular—i still get picked on by flash!”

peter looked up at tony with red-rimmed eyes. “and i’m not like all the fancy celebrities that she’s around—she could have anyone. anyone. i’m pretty sure janelle monáe talked about her in an interview once. janelle. monáe. a-and jojo siwa danced to her music in a tiktok. and i can’t even tell you how many men say they have crushes on her in interviews and stuff… it’s like, i’m never there. we’re both busy, and she’s surrounded by people who are way cooler and smarter and famous-er than me, and it freaks me out, mr. stark.”

tony’s cool demeanor broke upon seeing how genuinely devastated peter was. “underoo, this girl wrote a song for you. hell, i think the most romantic thing i’ve done for pepper recently was eating lunch with her. jarvis? remind me to do something romantic for pepper. she talks to you almost every day, and trust me, i know, because we can hear you jabbering from the common room.

“kid, you work for me. that makes you pretty damn cool. you went to space—even though i said not to, but whatever—and you’re spiderboy. i passed by a street vendor selling knockoff spiderman masks the other day. people love you too. the team loves you. and i guess i think you’re pretty okay too. the girl loves you, spidey. jojo siwa has nothin’ on you.”

peter sniffed. “you really think so?”

“yeah, yeah. don’t push it.” tony went to leave peter’s room, but not before pointing to peter’s closet and winking. “it’s a secret.”

he opened the closet doors, shuffling through a couple of shirts you'd left behind and one of your cardigans. it was the same as always. but in his peripherally, peter caught sight of one of tony’s $200 smarthangers beholding the last limited edition tour shirt that had “mysteriously” gone missing. (bucky and sam were accusing each other for days.) he ran his hands over the cotton fabric, which was softer than he’d expected. tony must’ve dry-cleaned it for him beforehand. peter smiled, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.

peter fiddled with the hem of his shirt the entire ride to the venue. happy picked him, may, ned, and mj up in the limo a bit earlier than the rest of the team was planning on leaving so they could get settled into their vip seats.

the venue was smaller than he’d expected. you’d played in much larger spaces before, with huge audiences and grand stages with special effects, but tonight was almost intimate. peter’s heart was beating until he felt it in his throat and may squeezed his hand reassuringly. he’d heard you sing on facetime, or in the videos you’d sent to him, but never live. he thought he might’ve been more scared than you were.

as the venue filled, peter’s anxiety only increased. mj and ned were bubbling happily, and peter caught the avengers waving to him from a section just a bit further from the stage. he was secretly grateful that they weren’t up front with him. maybe it was selfish, but he wanted you to himself tonight.

when the lights dimmed and ambient music begin filling the air, peter watched as you slowly rose from a platform under the stage until you were fully revealed, holding a sleek black guitar, beaming so brightly that peter was pretty sure you wouldn’t need the stage lights.

the cheering of the crowd was dull in his ears. he was mesmerized by the way you moved, adjusting the vintage microphone in front of you. it was only you on stage, illuminated by a spotlight, standing in front of your microphone like you were at home on a stage in front of hundreds of people.

you needed no introduction before you began singing a song that peter hadn’t heard before.

vintage tee, brand new phone. high heels on cobblestones. when you are young they assume you know nothing…

it was your first date. peter had exchanged his science pun shirts for an old band tee, and you’d complimented him immediately, revealing that you were also a fan. you’d dropped and cracked your phone on the sidewalk that night, stumbling over a bump in the concrete and falling into peter. you’d made a stupid joke, “it looks like i’ve fallen for you,” and peter had laughed like you were the funniest person in the world.

but i knew you, dancing in your levi’s, drunk under a streetlight, i… i knew you, hand under my sweatshirt, baby kiss it better, i… and when i felt like i was an old cardigan under someone’s bed, you put me on and said i was your favorite.

it was the night you’d first kissed. it had started raining, both of your socks were all wet, and the sweatshirt peter had given you to wear after you’d gotten cold was soaked through. you’d pasted your hands under his shirt onto his chest, claiming you needed warmth. he did the same.

to kiss in cars and downtown bars was all we needed… you drew stars around my scars but now i’m bleedin’...

it was you and him, trying not to be seen. you and him, avoiding cameras and crowds—hiding behind tinted car windows and hole-in-the-wall restaurants. it was you and him: when he took you swinging right before you left to tour and you scraped your knees from the rough landing. you and him: peter kissing your cuts and apologizing profusely about giving you scars right before your concert. you and him, when you’d pulled him into your chest and told him you’d sacrifice anything to be under the stars with him.

‘cause i knew you, steppin’ on the last train, marked me like a bloodstain, i… i knew you, tried to change the ending, peter losing wendy, i…

you and him: when he’d hugged you goodbye in a quiet corner at the train station and wiped away your tears from under your sunglasses. you and him: when peter watched as the spiderman bandaids on your knees that he’d given you last night as you bled walked further and further away. you and him: when he’d called you and cried after a difficult mission, telling you how he thought he might have not made it and how the thought of losing you—his darling—was what kept him going. you and him: how you’d wanted to cancel your tour and see him again, but how he insisted that you keep going, that the both of you kept going.

i knew i’d curse you for the longest time, chasin’ shadows in the grocery line; i knew you’d miss me once the thrill expired, and you’d be standin’ in my front porch light…

you and him: how you’d fought halfway through your tour, when he didn’t understand why you didn’t want to go public with your relationship. you and him: how you’d gone grocery shopping with him but dropped his hand and left as soon as cameras appeared. you and him: how he’d told you that the secrecy of the relationship might be thrilling for you, but was hurting him. you and him: how he’d promised that no matter how difficult your relationship got, you’d always have a home at his and may’s apartment.

and i knew you’d come back to me, and you’d come back to me… and you’d come back…

next to peter, ned and mj hollered excitedly and jumped up and down; may screamed and clapped. peter hadn’t budged, staring up at you with awe and pride as your strumming faded out. he would’ve been content staring at you, glowing as you immersed in your element, until ned elbowed him.

you tapped the microphone a couple of times and the stage lights began to reveal the landscape behind you; a small band, a few background singers, and a simple, natural scene.

you cleared your throat. “thank you, new york!”

peter had never heard a sound sweeter than your giggle as you watched the audience cheer and wave their glowsticks.

“thank you! this is the second to last concert of my tour, and it’s been such a privilege to play for you. you guys are the first to hear my new single, cardigan, that i wrote while on tour.”

there was more screaming and your eyes scanned the audience for something that you evidently hadn’t found, given the nearly imperceptible frown on your face.

“uh, this song is really important to me, ‘cause it’s about someone i really love. i haven’t seen him in a while, and god, i miss him, and i hope he knows that i’d always come back to him…” you sniffled, and the audience cooed.

“y’know, sometimes you have those moments when you’re paralyzed or when you’re scared, so you keep trying to live in the past, where things are easy and you already know how everything ends. but if you take the easy route, trying to protect yourself from the unknown, you end up losing what could’ve been. all the new moments that you’ll never get to have because you’re too busy living in old memories. ‘cause when you stay behin, the people you love might want to move forward, take risks, and explore even better things. so you might lose them.”

your eyes searched the audience once more. “and i’ve learned so much from being on tour with you all. it’s very- if you don’t know, everything that goes on behind the scenes in the music industry is very… intentional. every word, action, public appearence—it’s all planned. but i met this boy; or rather, i fell in love with this boy, and he makes me want to say, ‘fuck the plans.’” the audience roared and you laughed jubiantly alongside them.

“i don’t know if i’m allowed to swear, actually. it’s fine,” you admitted. “anyways, he makes me want to take chances, even if that terrifies me. ‘cause honestly, it did; still does. i hope he’s here today. i can’t see him from here, but his name is peter. peter parker.”

there were cheers and murmurs, and peter heard heard thor somewhere in the back roar, “the spi- the small man is here!” thor pointed vigorously to the front, where peter was standing and blushing profusely. there was a bit of sweat beading on his forehead, and sure, the body heat from the crowd was pretty hot, but the fire in his cheeks had nothing to do with that.

peter watched as you walked towards the edge of the stage to where thor was pointing, shouting back at him with a quick banter that the audience seemed to love. peter cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, praying you could hear it from amidst the crowd, because he couldn’t even hear himself.

your eyes widened and you burst into a grin as you locked eyes with peter. “oh my god, is it- peter?”

peter nodded, face contorting into surprise and then adoration and then determination as the both of you rushed forward to try and touch each other. you fell to your knees and reached your hand out to peter, and he took is tightly between both of his. you mouthed his name so that nobody but him could see it, and under the harsh stage lights, peter could clearly see the watery tears collecting at the corner of your eyes that you carefully dabbed away as to not smudge any of your makeup.

“peter—this is peter, my boyfriend!” you announced to the crowd, holding his hand up. “is there any way you can come up-” you looked around for stairs.

peter smirked, slinging himself onto the stage with ease. he’d scaled buildings before. this was no challenge, especially because he had an incentive to work towards.

“oh, you’re just climbing- that works too!” you offered him your hands to pull him to his feet and enveloped him into a hug. you’d left him a bottle of your perfume before you’d left, but nothing could compare to actually holding you in your arms. you smelled like sweat and hairspray, but he could still catch hints of your perfume and the shampoo you loved.

when you let go of him, still keeping one of your hands in his, peter snuck a glance at the audience. from the stage, the venue seemed twice as large. he could see may, mj, and ned waving and screaming at him, and a bit further back, he could see thor waving his hands maniacally and tony, who had somehow managed to clear out a spot, actually smiling.

“what am i supposed to do?” peter hissed to you, smiling awkwardly at the audience as his heart pounded. fighting robot-alien-ancient-powerful-gods was so much easier than this.

“kiss me?” you whispered, eyes glittering. peter didn’t need to be told twice.

“so i’m peter? and you’re wendy darling?”

“mhm,” you sighed, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead.

“i’ll never lose you, darling. i’ll always come back to you.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

peter parker masterlist | main masterlist

taglist: (comment to be added)

@bambamwolf87 @yourallihave @im-a-slut-for-fluff

bonus:

flash’s fanfiction

the midtown group chat reacts to your relationship

#peter parker x you #peter parker x reader #peter parker imagine #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x famous! reader #peter parker x singer! reader #avengers x famous! reader #avengers x singer! reader #peter parker x reader fluff #peter parker x reader angst #peter parker angst #peter parker fluff #peter parker crackfic

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14dyh · 3 months

Note

i saw ur prompt list (i am just absolutely obsessed w hange) can you write the soulmates trope? w past lifes and stuff

Meet Me at St. Mary's | H.Z.

Pairing: Hange Zoë x female reader Summary: Y/N shared a special moment with Hange at the bridge over St. Mary's. Word count: 1.0k A/N: so this is my fluffy apology fic after my last angsty Hange fic, i'm still sorry guys (i was about to upload this last night but i had a fever so it was kinda late, thanksss for the request anon!! :D)

Y/N always had a strange feeling about the river at St. Mary's. It appears as something neither deep nor shallow, but the dark waters streamed silently as though in desire to consume her. She passes by the river silently with a shudder. Not daring to look back or stare for too long.

However, that noon as she opened the love letter Hange slipped between her hands earlier that day, it only contained a few words, and that was enough to bemuse her.

"Meet me at St. Mary's."

Y/N laid down in her bed, eyes wandering the ceiling as her thoughts raced. Why St. Mary's? Why meet her lover at a place so surreal and horrific?

The next evening was a cold Sunday. Anyone who passes by would tell you that the weather was breezy if you asked. But Y/N would tell you that the air was sharp and biting, the waters streamed unforgivingly below the bridge. Too steady, too calm to be natural as her reflection stared back at her. It feels like a masked horror surreptitiously watching, waiting… waiting to pull her in. She was too absorbed in staring at the depths to notice Hange's presence approaching.

She jumped back a little in surprise as Hange hugged her from behind, kissing her softly on her temple.

Y/N could only smile softly before wrapping her arms around their body, taking in the sound of their heartbeat and the whiff of their perfume reminding her of the flowers she used to love from childhood. Y/N took their presence in and it was enough to make her breathe again

"I swear I've held you like this before," Hange murmured as their grip loosened but never let go, a small smile curling at their lips.

The familiarity of their touch surprised her, it was as if her soul attached itself to their embrace, yearning for something she once had. The park had gone quiet, like a still painting of people, mostly lovers, passing by. The birds of the night chirped, the faint glow of the street lamp illuminating the bridge where the two held each other.

"Do you remember anything else?" I murmured, tracing my thumb over their hands. My gaze remained on the river. Shallow yet so unfathomable. I want to know if Hange knew these flashes of memory... that it wasn't just me.

Y/N remembered holding their hand like this, her body recognized and yielded to their touch like a soft flower gently bowing down. It wasn't from this life but somewhere else… at another time that she couldn't quite put into words.

Too ineffable as she would describe it.

Hange lowered their head, their lips gently pressing on her hair. The river streamed quietly beneath, people pass by the park silently, absorbed in their versions of this night.

"Isn't it strange?" Hange laughed softly, facing Y/N this time, their soft demeanor dropping to an enthusiastic one as they held both of her hands on theirs. They told her the moment they first held her hand and the first time they kissed her. A version of events would flash in their mind, a distant memory coming close. No amount of science could have explained that even if Hange tried. This strange familiarity only enthused Hange even more, providing them with an unusual rush of emotions that feels too good… too right.

"It's like…" Hange gave a soft sigh, a smile forming on their lips. "I know you even before I learned your name."

Their words caught Y/N's heart, a spark running through her fingertips as her lover spoke.

"So I hope you don't mind this little experiment of mine," Hange continued, looking around. "I always see a vision of you in this bridge. Somewhere a long time ago… I just couldn't quite remember… "

But Y/N knew. She was starting to remember no matter how faint the memory was. Maybe it was this bridge that triggered these wisps of memory. It wasn't something that the mind could remember. Minds are fragile and could deteriorate, but the soul always knows.

"Then allow me to make you remember…" Y/N whispered, pulling her lover into a soft kiss. Hange's body melted against hers, remembering this same touch, this same soul pulling them into a loving embrace.

People tell you that love was developed out of practice, of learning and falling apart, all the same like a vicious cycle. They tell you that having one true love is a huge illusion, no vow or marriage could determine that.

But Hange remembered the myth of this river, under the bridge where their lover once embraced them.

It was said that two lovers rowed by St. Mary's river, cursed to travel the waters for eternity for their love for each other angered the gods. No worship, no form of devotion to a deity could imitate such things. When the two pass by under the lovers' bridge, lovers connected by their souls will be forever bound to each other, something that the two mythical lovers never had.

Hange gripped her tightly against their body and began to think.

Even if their love angered and ripped through reality, even if it defied the fragility of life and led them to punishment… they are willing to go through it over and over again.

Their will remained as boundless as the love they have for her. Their one and only.

Hange gently pulled away momentarily, their lips placing kisses over her forehead, her cheeks, her nose, and her jaw.

"I remember this…" Hange muttered in between each soft kiss, their lips helping them to remember.

All the while, Y/N held a soft smile, her cheeks heating up despite the breezy night. The starless sky never felt so bright.

A tear slipped down her cheek as she held them once again. Maybe it was because of relief, of recognition, or of finally finding her haven, she didn't quite know.

As the lovers held each other under the moonlight, the people passing gradually vanished one by one, even the birds had quieted, and a faint swoosh could be heard from below the river.

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rorywritesjunk · 5 months

Text

No longer locked upon the land but free on the rolling waves

You and Buggy come face to face with himself from the past, and while you’re fully accepting that this is your husband as a child, Buggy doesn’t want to accept it.

Rating: PG-13ish, but just due to some swearing.

Warning: Upset kid, upset husband. Reader is way too nice, doesn’t necessarily take husband’s feelings into account as well.

A/N: A combined request. I did a few versions of this story before feeling like it hit the marks I was wanting to hit. Also, I’m just trying to vibe off what I’ve seen of Kid Buggy. I’m no expert. I’d protect that kid with my life. He’s so adorable. I also like the trope of “Meeting your self from another time” and “gets turned back into kid-self”. This is the former, and I know shit about time travel but I just kind of made something up. This story has also been a lot of fun to work on and the reaction from people has been lovely, thank you!

Chapter 1 + Chapter 2 + Chapter 3 + Chapter 4 + Chapter 5 + Chapter 6/Epilogue Title comes from “Sailing Song” by S.J. Tucker.

TAGLIST: @lostfirefly @misadventures0fdes @sylum @valen-yamyam16 @dohkyu @fluffybunnyu @skyofsteel @lavalampskyy @gingernut1314 @ane5e @madam-o @the-angriest-angel

Chapter 5

You woke up alone in bed. Your husband and the kid were both nowhere to be seen which worried you. Did something happen? You normally weren’t a heavy sleeper, but last night you had to console both the kid and your husband before either of them would fall asleep - Kid Buggy was worried about missing you when it was time for him to go and Adult Buggy was pissed that his alone time with you was interrupted. It was late when you finally fell asleep, but you were generally still up before your husband, so what was going on?

Did something happen because Kid Buggy was removed from his timeline? Was the universe punishing you for helping him out, is that why both of them were missing at once? You looked around the bedroom, noticing Buggy’s captain hat and jacket were missing, which was probably a good sign. It hopefully meant he was dressed and somewhere on the ship, most likely the kitchen looking for breakfast. And that led to your next thought, if they were still on the ship why didn’t they wake you up to cook?

You threw the covers off and changed your clothes before heading to the kitchen. There was some noise coming from it, talking, maybe even laughing, but you weren’t sure and you were on alert. Generally the crew stayed out of there unless you told them specifically they could go in there. After one too many incidents with damaged pots and pans you banned everyone from using the kitchen (even the Captain), so you were feeling apprehensive about what you were about to walk into.

“That’s not how you fry an egg!”

“This is exactly how you fry an egg!”

“It’s way too runny! The yolk should be cooked more!”

“Don’t tell me how my wife likes her eggs!”

You stopped in the doorway, arms crossed as you stared at the sight in front of you. Your husband was standing at the stove with a skillet in one hand and a spatula in the other, raised over the kid’s head and ready to thump him. Kid Buggy was on a stool beside him, pointing out the errors in his cooking as he buttered toast. It was… it was a sight to behold, and while you were glad they were kind of getting along, you weren’t looking forward to cleaning up after the two of them. Finally, you cleared your throat, startling the two of them. Your husband looked horrified to see you while the kid’s face lit up.

You smiled sweetly at Adult Buggy as you stepped into the kitchen. “Buggy, my dear husband and love of my life, I banned you from the kitchen, remember? You’re not allowed anywhere near the pots and pans, muchless the utensils and stove.”

“It was the kid’s idea!” Buggy pointed the spatula at him. “I only followed along with it to supervise him!”

“You told me I couldn’t operate the stove!” Kid Buggy shot back at his adult self. “I was gonna do it but you said only adults are allowed to! How was I supposed to know you were banned from the kitchen?!”

You covered your mouth to try and hold back the laugh that was threatening to come out, but it was too difficult. The sight of the two arguing with each other while tattling to you about the other was too much. You managed to make it to a chair, falling back into it as you started laughing. It was too much first thing in the morning. From thinking the universe suddenly snatched them away from you to finding them arguing in the kitchen broke you, so you laughed.

They both stopped arguing, now turning their attention on you. The kid was confused while your husband looked rather offended.

“What are you laughing at?” They both asked at the same time, though their tones were vastly different.

“S-Sorry, you two are just too much for me!” You giggled as you wiped the tears that were forming in your eyes. “I… I woke up and you were both missing and then I came here to find you!” You tried to stop laughing, but soon you were gasping for breath. It wasn’t so much that it was funny, you were just relieved. “I thought something happened!”

“Something did happen! I was hungry!” Your husband exclaimed as he turned his attention back to the stove. The eggs were burning so he frantically flipped them and turned the heat down, hoping they would still be edible. “And then the kid woke up and said we should cook breakfast for you, so here we are! Why did you sleep in anyway? Are you getting lazy now, babe?”

You sniffled a bit, the occasional giggle slipping out. “I’m not getting lazy, just someone kept me awake late last night because he was upset about something silly.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” A tiny voice said; you turned and looked at the kid. His entire demeanor changed when you said that, thinking you were talking about him, so you reached out for him and tugged him over to you, pulling him onto your lap as you wrapped your arms around him. Your husband had an unhappy look on his face when you did that.

“Oh, no, it wasn’t you, sweetie.” You assured him as you hugged him. He leaned into you and you rested your cheek on the top of his head. “Promise. I was talking about my husband. He was pouting that he didn’t get enough time to kiss me last night.”

Kid Buggy made a disgusted face when you said that. Your husband turned red and glared at you while you just chuckled. He returned to poking the eggs on the stove. The other side didn’t burn as badly as the other. He tossed the food onto plates before bringing it to the table, making sure you had your plate first before he put the kid’s plate at his seat. To his annoyance, you moved the plate over next to yours and allowed the kid to eat sitting on your lap.

“He can sit in his own chair, you know.” Your husband grumbled as he started eating. You shrugged as you ate, making sure not to flinch at the taste of burnt egg. You appreciated that the two of them tried to do this together, so you didn’t want to upset either of them by how… interesting the taste was.

“I know.” You said as Buggy’s hands went to pour the coffee he forgot he made. After taking a sip of it, you set the mug down and didn’t touch it again for a while. “But I don’t mind.” You took a bite of the barely warmed bread that they called toast. “Is it bothering you, honey?”

“No.” Buggy grumbled as he looked down at his plate. You knew better, it did bother him, but you weren’t going to interrupt the kid’s meal. He was eating the food without issue, as was your husband. At least they didn’t mind the taste of their own cooking.

You risked it and took another sip of coffee. “How about after we clean up from breakfast, we go for a walk in the town?”

Both of them looked at you; your husband said nothing as he took a sip of his own coffee while the kid nodded in agreement. “Let’s do it! I wonder if I can find where I got the necklace from. D’you think they still have stuff there? I could steal you something else!” He looked over at his adult self with a smug look. “I’m a better thief as a kid, y’know, because I’m quicker than some old man.”

“Old man?!” Buggy shrieked as he slammed his coffee cup down, the liquid sloshing and spilling everywhere. “I’m not old! I’m in my thirties!”

“That’s old.” The kid assured him. Your husband looked at you for help but you shrugged and took another bite of the buttered bread.

“I must be old as well since I’m two months older than him.” You told Kid Buggy, and he looked up at you, horrified. He didn’t mean you were old, just your husband, so he immediately backtracked.

“Not you, just him! He’s an old man!”

“I’m not too old to throw you overboard again!” Adult Buggy threatened.

“You’ll have to catch me!”

“Why you little-”

You managed to get the kitchen spotless while the two stayed in the kitchen with you. Your husband was teaching the kid how to play cards so he could win big against others, even teaching him some ways to cheat as well. It was fine, they were getting along even after Buggy chased the kid around the ship after being called old. It got them both tired out which meant you didn’t have to break up any arguments between the two. For now.

“How did you meet her?” The kid asked as he looked over his cards. “Was it like one of those gross love stories?”

“What? No.” Buggy scowled as he threw down some cards onto the table. “All I did was sweep her off her feet.” He looked quite smug for a moment. “She was charmed by my personality, you know.”

“What personality?”

“Listen here, you-”

“I fixed his jacket.” You chimed in as you scrubbed the burnt egg of the skillet. The kid looked up when you spoke, letting the cards in his hand droop forward, but your husband reached over and pushed them back up, muttering Don’t let me see your cards while you glanced over at them. “He lost some buttons on it and came to the tailor I worked at demanding it be fixed. I was just finishing my apprenticeship there, so I thought it would be good to fix a captain’s jacket, you know, in case it led to anything further. I replaced his buttons and also fixed the lining of his jacket, and he kept coming back for the smallest things over the course of a year, like a loose thread needing to be trimmed or wanting to make sure the thread holding the buttons on matched the thread holding the other buttons.”

“And then he swept you off your feet?” Kid Buggy asked with a frown. You grinned as your husband just grumbled.

“Yes, after I asked him out for lunch when he showed up at the shop with some flowers. My boss tried to scare him off but it didn’t work.” You told him with a smile. Your husband blushed just a bit while the kid looked between the two of you. “What? I thought he was so handsome, y’know, and charming and funny.”

“What do I gotta say when I meet you later on then?” The kid asked as he looked down at his cards. “So I can charm you and marry you?”

You dried your hands on your apron and crossed your arms as you leaned back against the sink. “Well, I don’t know if I should be giving spoilers like that about our relationship…”

“Just bring her flowers.” Your husband told him as he collected the cards to reshuffle them. “You’re getting better at this game, kid.” He leaned back in his chair and looked back at you. “Any flowers. She loves them, but I know from experience that if you get her a bouquet of different colors, she’ll do pretty much anything you ask.”

“Anything?”

“Yea, anything. One of the last times I got her flowers, she-”

He didn’t finish the sentence because you suddenly slapped your hand over his mouth, your cheeks burning bright as you glared down at your husband. He had absolutely no filter sometimes, and you knew that was from growing up on a ship and surrounded by others without a filter, but you weren’t about to let him spill all the secrets of your relationship to the kid. At least he realized that he was about to say something inappropriate so he cleared his throat and pushed your hand away.

“She made me my favorite dinner.” Your husband said calmly, thinking quickly in hope that the kid wouldn't ask further questions. “That’s what she did.”

“Good save.” You warned him as you went back to your previous position, arms crossed as you stared at the back of his head. Buggy felt his eyes on you and swallowed heavily. He knew he needed to watch his mouth because you only ever allowed one slip up like that a day and it was still early. The last time he almost said something inappropriate like that to someone who wasn’t on the crew (your father on your last visit to your parents) you made him use his Devil Fruit abilities to clean all the pipes in your parents house with a tiny little brush. “Don’t say anything else, Buggy! He’ll be fine, you know, so don’t give him any ideas!”

Your husband turned in his seat, grinned and winked at you but you looked away, your face still red. Kid Buggy looked between the two of you, not really understanding why you turned red and interrupted your husband, but he wasn’t going to ask. He was grateful to have some idea how to meet you in the future, however. He just had to have a great looking jacket with buttons for you to fix and then he would find you, have you fall in love with him, and everything would be right in his world.

#buggy the clown #buggy the clown x reader #buggy x reader #buggy x you #buggy the clown x you #opla buggy the clown x reader #opla buggy the clown #opla buggy x reader #opla buggy the clown x you #opla buggy x you #sunny x buggy #one piece #one piece oc #one piece fanfiction

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